


Aurelius

by adulter_clavis



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Western, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 08:17:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adulter_clavis/pseuds/adulter_clavis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Western AU. She claimed to be an accountant far from home, on a search for her missing father, but her skill in a knife fight made Soul less than inclined to believe that. "And what is it you account FOR, Miss Albarn?" Soul asked. Maka gave him a thin smirk. "Bodies," she said, and Soul decided that letting her hire him as a bodyguard was probably going to get him killed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. She's so sweet with her get-back stare

**Author's Note:**

> This came about because of a great deal of pestering on the parts of Marshofsleep and Victoriapyrrhi. Originally a gold rush/western AU, I totally screwed that up by making them leave California a quarter of the way through the story. Sorry. Except not really. It is what it is. Watch out for violence, I guess, and maybe language, but more in the sense of me using ridiculous words than anything.

It was a warm, sunny afternoon when the stranger showed up, but none of the mining town's occupants were inclined to pay strangers much mind: they came around often, after all, what with the town owing its existence to the California gold rush.  Most of the town's residents were close to being strangers themselves, hardly settled long enough to be called residents and certainly not long enough to be called locals.  They claimed that title only by virtue of the fact that they had gotten there first -- to a new arrival, everyone in town was a local, and never mind the fact that none of them had been born nearby or even lived there for more than a few years.  
  
There was nothing interesting about the stranger until one looked closely, and then the details became simply puzzling: he travelled without guards, generally accepted as essential to one's survival and continued possession of whatever valuables might be on board; said stranger, reins in hand, appeared to be the only passenger on his carriage; and, to everyone's confusion, drove said carriage right into the inn yard, declared that the stable boy could keep the cursed thing if he wanted it, and ordered his possessions taken to a room and his horses seen to with utmost care.  
  
"They are the only members of the team I hired who have pulled their weight," the stranger said, loud enough that half the town must have heard, "and I will not see them mistreated.  As I assume that this horrid conveyance of mine is of little use to you in these mountains except as firewood, I have no compunctions about paying for my room and board as is appropriate.  Tell your master that if he overcharges me, I shall know it, and it would save everyone involved a great deal of trouble if he will simply extend me a fair price from the start."  
  
With that, the stranger tossed the stable boy a coin, turned smartly, and strode across the street and into the saloon, gait as no-nonsense as his tone.  The man on the saloon's porch, comfortably slouched in a rocking chair, waited for the double doors to cease swinging before he stretched and stood, laconic, joints popping. He'd watched the entire scene, noted the strangenesses of the carriage and an odd quality to the outsider's walk that he couldn't quite place, the long leather coat he wore that could have concealed a terrifying number of weapons and the low, wide-brimmed hat that hid the bulk of his features.  It was hard to pretend that that kind of garb was a hallmark of dishonest or dangerous men given the general climate of California -- lawless, and not inclined to succor those who entered it expecting civilization or who presented even a hint of weakness -- but a good general policy was not to trust anyone in these parts, and the coat and hat and series of odd details made the stranger a thing to be examined closely, a real potential threat.  
  
Which was why the man ambled into the saloon, located the stranger while he waited for his eyes to adjust to the building’s dim interior, and sauntered over to the bar to order himself a drink once he determined that his target was currently occupying one of the barstools.  He studied the traveller from under the brim of his own hat, sipping whiskey and allowing himself a thoughtful frown.  The man was slim, but not what he’d call thin: a little too much muscle there, a smoothness to the other’s movements that suggested skill in a fight, and that might be a problem.  That build meant that the man was likely fast; the way of moving that he was agile; and the attitude that he had no compunctions about starting -- and _ending_ \-- a fight.  Trouble was what this one was, and brash enough to travel without guards, which was alarming in and of itself.  Except there _had_ been that comment over the horses, which implied that there had been other people at some point, and he wanted to know just what had brought this man here under such circumstances.  
  
“Afternoon, stranger,” he said in his best genial voice, motioning the bartender to pour a drink for the other.  “What brings you to our little gold rush town?”  
  
His question was met by a pair of analytical green eyes that stopped him halfway between moving from the stool he’d been on and one closer to his target, and the stranger looked him over head to toe without moving anything aside from his head before looking down at the glass of whiskey that the bartender brought and scoffing.    
  
“Keep your whiskey,” he said, and the other man’s brow furrowed.  “It is far too early in the day for spirits, and I have no time or inclination to muddle my reason with alcohol.  I have come here with a purpose and the journey has been not only long but extremely trying, and I would thank you to keep our conversation short unless it happens that you have information which I need.”  
  
"Hard to know if I can help you unless you talk to me long enough to let me know what information it is you need," the man said, mouth full of sharp teeth as he grinned and grabbed the extra glass of liquor from in front of the stranger.  "You a preacher, stranger?  Think they're 'bout the only ones around here who would refuse a free drink, no matter the time of day."  
  
His answer was a prim sniff.  "A preacher?  Hardly," the stranger said, eyes trained on the bartender as he moved about behind the bar.  "Religion and I have never had much of a relationship, I'm afraid, and the preachers are more like to exorcise me than welcome me into their sanctuary."  
  
"You'll fit right in, then," the man said, grin widening.  "California is wild and lawless, and even the church is hard-pressed to keep any semblance of morality in these forsaken parts.  There _is_ a great deal of gold, however, and that can occasionally buy you civilized company.  What is it that has brought you out this way all alone?"  
  
The stranger sighed, then reached up to pull off his hat and set it on the bar, exposing brown hair caught in a braided bun, which made the other man raise a pale eyebrow.  "I had hoped to speak with the proprietor of this place in order to determine how best to secure the resources I require, but I see now that he is not the man to ask, as he is foolish enough to allow his bartender to blatantly steal from him.  I have come to this forsaken country looking for my father, who has been missing for some time now.  I last had word of him from these parts, where he was aiming to stake himself a claim, and it would seem that his multitudinous vices have once again got the better of him."  
  
"Hold a moment," the man said, frowning at the bartender and the stranger equally.  "Stealing?"  
  
This earned him a put-upon sigh.  "I do not have the time nor inclination to explain how easily one may forge this or that in order to obtain some of one's employer's money.  I require supplies, information, and guards who will not attempt to barter my life and my possessions for money.  Can you assist me with these things, or shall I seek elsewhere?"  
  
"I can help," the man said after a moment of silence, occupied as he was with staring -- the stranger had turned towards him while speaking, and the coat had gaped; the movements had made visible several details he had missed, namely an attractive, fine-drawn face, even if the set to the chin was quite stubborn, and the unmistakable, however modest, lines of a female figure.  
  
"Ma'am," he added, very belatedly, and those sharp green eyes narrowed in a way that implied a willingness to do violence.  
  
"I hope you were not about to offer me your services as a guard or a guide," she said, gloved fingers of one hand tapping against the bar.  "Such a lack of perception would do nothing but get us both killed.  My name is Maka Albarn, and my father would have made himself known to you as Spirit.  Have you seen him?"  
  
"You'll have to pardon me, Miss Albarn," he said, grin growing huge and showing off the broad points of his teeth; she shifted ever so slightly.  "I am not accustomed to having to look quite so hard for clues that I am speaking to a lady."  This earned him an even sharper stare, and he was glad to see that Maka did not appear to be carrying a gun, because starting a shootout had not been high on his list of things to do that day.  "You may call me Soul.  I haven’t seen your father, though I haven’t been in town long.  I was, until a few days ago, involved in a long-term bit of work that involved more travel than anticipated.  As I am not presently employed, I can indeed offer you my services as a guard _and_ a guide; you'll find I have a good reputation as both.  As to information, if your father has vices, you would do best to inquire further down the street at the Silver Spur, where the ladies are for sale along with the drinks they serve."  
  
Maka nodded, allowing her glare to slip in the face of helpful information.  “An excellent notion, as my father’s greatest weaknesses include spirits, women, and most especially buxom women who will serve him spirits.  May I trouble you to remove your hat, sir?  I like to see clearly the face of a man who proposes to work for me.”  
  
“Certainly,” Soul said, and pulled his hat off, smirking as Maka’s startled eyes took in his shock of white hair and the blood red of his eyes, put that together with his sharp teeth and gave him a puzzled, suspicious look.  
  
“Your appearance certainly does not inspire confidence,” she said, and Soul laughed.  
  
“It’s nothing to trouble yourself over,” he said, and replaced his hat.    
  
She sniffed again.  "Not a concern?  I am considering trusting you with my life -- I think it in my best interests to be concerned with every detail I can find about you.  Certainly I did not do enough digging regarding the guards I hired originally."  
  
"About that," Soul said, emptying his drink and reaching for hers, torn between curiosity and suspicion.  "What happened to them?"  
  
Her response was an edged smile.  "It's nothing to concern yourself with," she said, mocking, and slid off the bar stool, heavy boots thudding onto the floor as she collected her hat.  "Would you care to accompany me to the fine establishment you mentioned, or shall I leave you here to drink and presume you are not interested in working with me?"  
  
" _With_ you," Soul repeated, rolling that word around in his mouth with a sip of whiskey.  "Not _for_ you?  What kind of job are you offering, if your previous guards have disappeared and you're leaving me room to act independently?  Are there men hunting you, Miss Albarn?"  
  
"There shouldn't be," she replied, and something in her tone made it clear that she was done discussing the matter.  "But the situation may become complicated, depending on whom my father has managed to offend with his conduct.  Depending also, I suppose, on whether or not the fool is even alive."  
  
"That's fair, I suppose," Soul said, and left money for the drinks on the bar before he stood.  "At least I can show you around town while I decide whether or not I want to go hunting through the mountains for your errant father, and while I'm doing that I sincerely hope you can find it in your heart to give me more information than you have.  The more I know, the better I'll be able to fulfill my end of this bargain."  
  
"Curiosity is not a sin," Maka said as they exited the building and she fell in beside him, "but asking too many questions can get you killed, and never mind actually knowing the answers.  If there's anything else you need to know, I assure you that I will be forthcoming with that information."  
  
Soul scowled, chewed on his lip until he remembered that he was going to chew it _off_ if he wasn't careful, and finally shoved his hands in his pockets and gave Maka a disapproving look.  "You are an extraordinarily difficult woman," he said, and was startled when her severe expression softened and she chuckled.  
  
"I am very tired, sir," she said, eyes warming fractionally.  "And I have had a difficult journey, all because my father is too foolish and irresponsible to attend to his obligations.  You may find me more agreeable after I have managed to get some sleep and some more concrete information about my father's whereabouts.  I don't fancy gallivanting about the countryside at random hoping to find the man."  
  
"It'd be a great way to get yourself killed by the local wildlife," Soul said helpfully, and Maka gave him an unamused profile stare.  "Don't worry," he said.  "I'm sure one of the girls will be able to give you some information if your father has such an affection for buxom ladies.  It'll probably even be easy to get them to talk to you, being as you're female, obviously no competition for their business, and being such an admirable daughter as to go looking for your wayward father out of the goodness of your heart."  
  
"No competition?" Maka said, and her gait shifted a little as her hand strayed towards a detail Soul hadn't noticed: a knife sheath on her thigh, and he didn't wait to see what kind of knife it might be, let alone how skilled she might be with it.  
  
"I mean," he prevaricated, desperately searching for something to say that would keep her from gutting him in the street, because at this range her knife would be up to the hilt in his belly before he could draw and shoot.  
  
"That's twice now you've insulted me," Maka said, hand edging away from her blade, and Soul exhaled, managed to get his hand away from his gun.  "Once more, and you and I will have to have a lesson regarding proper manners."  
  
"Blind leading the blind," he muttered, and didn't know how to react when she laughed again, all her hostility disappearing in a flash of bright green eyes and a surprisingly pleasant smile.  Thankfully he didn't have to endure confusion long, as they reached their destination while Maka was still smirking in amusement.  
  
At least, she _was;_ then she laid eyes on the busty woman reclining next to the establishment's door and her demeanor cooled considerably.    
  
"Good afternoon," she said, deciding that this woman had an excellent chance of having spoken with her father at length, as her soulful eyes and equally soulful cleavage were exactly the type that her father routinely told secrets to.    
  
"Why, what brings you here, sugar?" the woman asked, gracing them with an almost matronly smile that was completely ruined by her state of dress.  "That man, I understand, though I understand you've had a falling-out with Star, little Soul, and he's inside.  Perhaps you should steer clear."  
  
"I was planning on it," Soul said in an unexpectedly deep growl, and Maka gave him a look that was half suspicion and half curiosity before returning her attention to the woman in front of her.  
  
"I'm looking for my father, ma'am," she said, doing her best to look concerned and not irritated.  "We're from the east coast, and he's been out of touch for so long that I was compelled to travel all the way out here trying to find him.  I'm afraid he's gotten himself into trouble - he means well, but he has a gift for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.  He's got red hair, blue eyes, and the uncommon name of Spirit.  Might you have seen him?"  
  
"I used to see quite a lot of him," the woman said, and her tone made Soul wonder for a moment if he was going to have to restrain Maka right there in the street.  "But not in a while, honey.  He did mention having a good claim, though, north and east of here in a valley.  You follow the road into the mountains till you find his claim markers -- green ribbons, he said, for his beautiful daughter's eyes."  
  
"He is a sentimental and impractical man," Maka said, voice as dry as the desert she'd just traveled through.  "Thank you, madam.  I am sorry I couldn't live up to the paragon of feminine grace and beauty he no doubt painted me as."  
  
"We never live up to the stories men tell," the woman said.  "Don't worry, dear."  
  
Maka gave her a faint smile and tossed her a coin.  "Too true," she said.  "For your time.  And please -- don't tell anyone else about my father.  I'm afraid he might be in trouble, like I said."  
  
"Out here, everybody might be in trouble.  I'll keep it close," was the reply, and Maka nodded, turned away, and started to head back toward the inn.  
  
"I'd like to leave at first light," she said once she and Soul were out of earshot.  "To that end, I believe I am going to find myself a meal and retire for the evening."  
  
"We haven't discussed any terms or payment," Soul said, eyebrows high.  "And I was not aware that you'd decided you approved of me enough to hire me, nor had I come to a similar conclusion about yourself."  
  
She gave him another unamused look, but kept walking in silence until they reached the inn, at which point she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him around to the back of the building where they wouldn't be seen.  
  
" _What_ , woman, christ almighty," he said, yanking his arm free.  "Why can't you act like a normal person for more than two minutes at a stretch?"  
  
"I can pay you," Maka said, annoyed again as she dug through a pocket in her coat over her heart.  "No need to worry about _that_."  Her hand came out of the pocket fisted around a handful of something -- _something_ that turned out to be a small pile of gold coins, and Soul's eyes went impossibly wide at the sight.  
  
"You're going to get robbed," he said fervently.  "Robbed and raped and sold, or killed if you're lucky and they mistake you for a man -- "  
  
" _Manners_ ," Maka snarled, in a flash returning the gold to its hiding place and drawing her -- _jesus_ , her Bowie knife, and Soul found himself with eight inches of gleaming contraband steel pressed to his throat.  He'd been right: she was _fast_ , fast and ill-tempered and dangerous, and he supposed it was all part of the universe's twisted plan to make him serve penance for his sins that he seemed to be stuck with her.  
  
Assuming she didn't slit his damned throat, anyway, but that danger was allayed when a greater one presented itself: there was a small sound, and Maka's head whipped around to face it not even a second before she leapt back and a bullet flew straight through the spot where she'd been standing.  
  
Soul didn't pause to wonder just what the hell was going on; his gun cleared its holster in a blur, his return shot following a blink after, and a man toppled from the roof of the general store.   _Then_ he let himself wonder, except when he turned toward Maka to demand some answers there was a second man of a sudden, an obviously stupid man who thought Soul was the greater threat and tried to knife him.  In his surprise, Soul didn't respond immediately, and found himself slammed into the inn wall; before the man stabbed him, however, Maka caught up to him and delivered a kick to his ribs that made Soul flinch in sympathy as the man fell and skidded a bit in the dirt.  
  
"Don't even try it," she said when the man made to move, and knelt beside his head with one knee pressed hard against his throat, knife gleaming in her hand as she cut away his coat and shirt to reveal a tattoo underneath.  "I knew it," she said, and looked him in the eye.  "Were you told to kill me, or was this to be just a warning?"  
  
"Kill you," he said, and seemed to find his nerve.  "She doesn't give warnings.  Forget your father, girl.  Go home.  There's nothing anyone can do for him."  
  
“I appreciate you confirming that my father is, in fact, still alive,” Maka said, and the look in her eyes made Soul more than slightly uncomfortable.  “As thanks, your death will be fast.”  
  
And then she drove her knife to the hilt under the man’s chin, removed it with clinical efficiency, and stood so she could clean it without a moment’s hesitation or any outward sign that what she had just done affected her in any way.  
  
It was, Soul thought as he gaped, a bit different, what she’d done, compared to what he’d done, which was kill an aggressor at a comfortable distance.  This girl had knocked a man to the ground, threatened to crush his throat to get information, and put a blade in his brain without a single shred of hesitation or compassion, and _that_ was not something Soul was all that comfortable with.  
  
“I think you owe me some explanations, per your earlier comment,” he said after he regained his ability to speak, and the look Maka gave him made his hair stand on end.  
  
She didn’t get a chance to say anything, though, because a little swarm of light-motes exited the man she’d just killed and circled around Soul’s head, insistent, until he scowled and lifted his hand, offering it palm-up.  The lights relocated immediately and coalesced into a gleaming sphere, shot through with crackles of black, and he sighed in resignation before popping the thing into his mouth.  
  
“ _What,_ ” Maka said, eyes wide and back to holding her knife at the ready.  
  
“Shit, that’s bitter,” Soul spat once he swallowed the foul thing, and gave her a look still tinged with distaste as he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth.  “Hope you aren’t one of those people who don’t believe in magic,” he said, “because I’ve got a bit of a curse on me, lady.  Since you recognized our friend’s tattoo, it seems we share a common enemy, as that bitch is the one who did this to me.”  
  
He paused; Maka stared; at length he said, “Soul Eater,” and she gave him a look of incomprehension and dangerously short patience.  
  
“My name,” he said.  “Soul Eater Evans.  I was a bounty hunter.  I killed a lot of good people, and Medusa cursed me because she is spiteful wretch of a woman and she thought it would keep me working for her.  She made me into a bit of a -- a revenant, I suppose, a thing that feeds on the souls of others and is always hungry.  Long story short, it was around then that I had a moment of clarity and left her anyway.  Don’t look at me like that, I don’t kill for sport or food.  I am still a bounty hunter, among other things, and when it happens that I catch a man whose soul is tainted, I get to eat.”  
  
“You feast on the immortal souls of men whom you judge unworthy?” Maka said, and Soul gave her a terse look; when stated like that, it really sounded awful and not at all like the pinnacle of morality he liked to think of it as.  
  
Except then she said, “It seems you and I have a great deal more in common than I thought,” followed by, “We should probably just leave town before we end up spending the night in jail,” which he wholeheartedly agreed with.  
  
They were heading into the mountains within the hour.


	2. She's the salt of the earth and she's dangerous

They didn't talk much on the ride out of town, mostly because their horses were making too much noise at the pace they'd set for conversation to be much of an option.  Soul _wanted_ to talk -- kind of felt like he needed to know why the hell was Maka so good with that knife, where had she learned to kick like that, what had that cryptic comment about them having a lot in common meant, was he going to live long enough to actually collect any payment from her -- but he didn't really fancy finding out just what would happen if he tried to ask questions right that moment.  Primarily this was because he had a bad feeling that it might result in Maka knocking him out of his saddle or stabbing him, so he kept his mouth shut and spent their mad dash from the law pondering just what questions to ask, and how to ask them without getting skinned alive.  
  
He did eventually stir himself to yell over the clatter of hooves as the day was wearing into night, though, because she _had_ said something about needing a guide as well as a guard and he didn't fancy letting someone who had never even been to California before try to pick their campsite.  Maka gave him a look like she wanted to fight with him for trying to tell her where to stop, but Soul was relieved and a little surprised to see her reassert control over her temper, allowing logic to stay her sharp tongue.  Soul led them off the road, such as it was, onto a path that was little more than a game trail.  
  
"We're going to have to lead the horses," he said, swinging out of his saddle.  "The main trails are barely fit for riding, and if we try to ride down _this_ one we're just going to get ourselves killed."  
  
Maka nodded and followed his example, giving her tired horse an affectionate pat before taking the reins and following behind Soul as he picked a careful path along the trail.  "My horses are tired anyway," she said, surprisingly sure-footed for someone claiming to have come from a large city.  "Better to stop and rest them, assuming this place you are leading me to is safe from any pursuers we might have."  
  
Soul gave her an irritated glance over his shoulder.  "Can you imagine anyone pursuing anything down this trail?  I doubt they'll have even a chance of tracking us, and once I got us to the campsite I was planning on heading back to the trail entrance to cover any tracks we left.  Don't worry, Miss Albarn," he said, giving her a sharp-toothed grin, "you hired a guard and a guide, and I have a broad, well-developed skill set.  All I ask is that you pay me fairly and deign to trust that I am competent."  
  
"You are certainly quite competent with those pistols you carry," she said, sharp eyes on his gun belts where they crossed over his hips.  "I can't recall seeing a faster draw, and your marksmanship was quite good as well."  
  
"I'm a bounty hunter," Soul said, picking his way over a series of roots and rocks.  "A good one.  Like I told you, I've got a good reputation, depending on how you define 'good' and what parts of it you are referring to."  
  
"I am not interested much in your reputation, Soul Eater," Maka said, and he flinched despite the fact that she was giving him the warmest smile he'd seen from her to date.  "Except, of course, for the parts that vouch for your skills, and as I did not have a chance to inquire in town you will have to prove yourself to me.  As for the rest, I believe you are trustworthy and loyal, particularly as my mission will intersect nicely with your apparent desire to settle a score with Medusa, and I am content to have you as a partner for however long you are willing to stay around."  
  
Soul frowned, but it was at his boots -- continuing to look at Maka and not the trail would get him or his horse a broken leg if he wasn't careful.  "Are you saying that I may leave at any time?  This is a strange contract you make, Miss Albarn, not least because of your use of the word 'partner.'"  
  
There was a brief silence, in which Soul assumed she shrugged, to judge by the slight creak of leather.  "It is only equitable.  You may leave at any time, provided it does not lead to my death, and I will pay you provided there is no endangerment or betrayal involved."  Another pause, and she continued in a much colder tone: "And, should you prove unreliable or dangerous to my safety, please know that I will not hesitate to eliminate any threats."  
  
So if he managed to give the impression that he wasn't completely trustworthy or competent, she reserved the right to knife him.  Wonderful.  Well, he had no intention of giving that impression, so Soul decided not to worry about it too much except in the context of wondering just how crazy Maka Albarn might be and where, exactly, she'd learned to fight and kill like that.  And why.  Why was probably more important.  
  
The campsite Soul led them to was, in fact, a legitimate campsite: it was a sandy area beside a creek, partially sheltered by a rock overhang and a rough lean-to.  Maka seemed to be appeased by this, and agreed to get the camp set up while Soul tried to fish something out of the creek that would make them a suitable dinner.  He wanted to find the fact that she got the camp set up quickly and in good order surprising, but even at such an early stage of their relationship couldn't find it in himself to pretend that he was capable of believing that Maka would do anything in a less than precise manner.  
  
She was seated beside the fire when Soul came back with fish, making griddle-cakes and cleaning a rifle that was foreign to Soul's eyes.  
  
"What's that?" he asked, taking the frying pan from her so he could set the fish to cook alongside the cakes.  
  
Maka gave him a sardonic stare, something that could have been mischief or firelight flickering in her eyes.  "My rifle," she said.  "Have you such an attachment to those pistols that you have never even bothered to learn of their brethren?"  
  
"You are the most intractable woman," Soul growled, removing his hat and setting it beside him.  "I am quite familiar with rifles, thank you, and I mean to say that I've never seen one like _that_ before.  Up until just now I would have said I was conversant with all of the rifles currently in use, but that is a new one to my eyes."  
  
"That is because it is the only one of its kind," Maka said, examining a mechanism near the loading slot.  "Unless its creator has made another prototype, but given his current circumstances I doubt that."  She arced an eyebrow at his blatantly curious stare.  "It is a repeater," she said, and picked up a box of ammunition from where she'd set it beside her.  "You load rounds into the chamber here, and after every shot you fire you simply give the trigger mechanism a pull to discharge the shell and reload.  Much faster, much easier.  Occasionally it jams, but it _is_ only a prototype, and it is far ahead of its time."  
  
"Miss Albarn," Soul said, staring at the rifle gleaming in her hands, light catching on the skull etched into the metal plate over the stock, "I hope I do not offend, but please enlighten me - what is it you do, exactly?"  
  
She gave him a tight, amused smile.  "I am an accountant," she said, setting the rifle aside and standing to strip off her gloves and coat, exposing the modest, neat curves Soul had been so slow to notice earlier.  "I work as part of my father's business."  
  
Soul watched her in silence for a minute or more as she set up her bedroll, folded her coat neatly to use as part of her pillow, pulled off her boots and set them by her packs.  Finally he gave up and said, "Ma'am, I suppose I believe you, but what is it you account _for_ , exactly, that you carry around such a gun and clearly have no difficulty of any kind killing a bandit in a knife fight?"  
  
Maka came back to the fire, accepted a fish and a few cakes from Soul, and shrugged.  "The rifle and my combat abilities are largely unrelated to my work as an accountant," she said, chewing.  "As you have seen, my father has a particular gift for offending people in a position to have him killed, and they frequently attempt to target me instead, being as I am female, supposedly helpless by virtue of my sex and occupation, and my father is notoriously attached to me.  Learn to use a rifle, he said, and if your enemy has made it inside its range, far better to close with him and use a melee weapon.  He was correct: many men, accustomed to fighting at something of a distance because of their habit of carrying pistols, freeze up in a hand to hand fight because they don't know how to react and are completely unused to having opponents determined to physically assault them."  
  
She paused, and took another bite of her dinner before saying, "Besides, most men are much more afraid of being stabbed than they are of being shot.  Distance can make anything seem less threatening, I suppose."  
  
"It certainly had that effect on you," Soul grumbled, and Maka gave him another one of those unexpected grins.  That was a good sign, he thought, so he hazarded a comment.  "For someone whose intelligence is so lacking in your opinion, you seem to have some respect for your father's advice."  
  
Maka snorted a little.  "I said he was a fool, and a sentimental man easily swayed by the charms of women," she said.  "I did not imply that he was mentally deficient in all areas, nor that he is necessarily bad at what he does.”  
  
"What _does_ he do," Soul asked, tried to play it cool and not act as if every detail she gave him made him more worried about just what he was getting involved in.  
  
Maka gave him a cool smile that didn't quite get to her eyes.  "He is in the shipping business, among others," she said.  "His good friend and business partner is a doctor, and a large portion of my father's cargo consists of medical supplies and medicines, which we sell at a drugstore near the practice.  The real reason he came to California was to scout out a location for a general store, though I can't say that I am very surprised to find that he is far more interested in prospecting and making enemies than doing any official work.  Participating in the gold rush is like gambling, and he's always liked that much better than doing anything reliable or respectable."  
  
"California is his kind of place, then," Soul said with a slow, toothy smile, and Maka made an irritated noise.  
  
"The man has a lot of business that he needs to attend to back east," she said.  "It wouldn't ordinarily be a problem -- he usually manages not to completely botch everything, if only because he tends to remember his responsibilities at the last possible moment -- but things have gotten dire rather more quickly than I was prepared to deal with, and he is the only one with the authority to set things right.  I am, after all, only an accountant.  He is the business owner, and when he put his signature on the papers he accepted certain duties that he must now see to."  
  
Soul frowned at her around a mouthful of dinner.  Something about the way she talked didn't sit right -- something about her determined urgency didn't line up with the story she was telling.  "Surely he left someone else in charge while he was away?"  
  
"The good doctor, yes," Maka said with a resigned sigh.  "Unfortunately, he's gone missing as well, and not under good circumstances.  Trust me, I would not have travelled a month and more on an uncomfortable, cramped boat if the situation had not become truly dire.  I can only hope that I can find him quickly and book a return trip as fast, because the situation I left behind was not one that I expected to keep for all that long."  
  
Soul's frown deepened.  "I suppose this is an instance of information I do not yet need to know in order to perform my duties, Miss Albarn?"  
  
"You are correct," she said with a prim sniff.  "It is not yet your business to know any more details, and if we are lucky it will never be."  She set her plate aside, produced a handkerchief from her shirt pocket, and wiped her mouth neat as you pleased.  "I am going to wash my dishes and my face, and attempt to make up some of the sleep I've been missing these past days.  Good night, sir."  
  
Soul watched her do exactly that, still eating his dinner; watched her set up her bedroll, turn her back to the fire, and drop off to sleep seemingly effortlessly.  He would have chastised her for not even bothering to set up a watch schedule with him, but they were in a place where it was far more likely that a bear would bother them than a person, and the bears were like to stay away, he'd found, since Medusa had cursed him.  They didn't seem to find his scent all that appealing any longer, and he didn't blame them.  
  
He finished his dinner and saw to the dishes, nerved himself up for a quick bath in the icy creek and then sought his own bed.  It had been a strange, tiring day, and he was still hoping a little that it was just a dream he was bound to wake from.    
  
Soul fell asleep to the sound of Maka's kitten-purr snore, which he found at once irritating and endearing -- putting it exactly in line with most of her mannerisms.  
  
Gunshots woke Soul just before dawn, and he was out of his bedroll and behind a tree before he'd properly registered that he was conscious.  Pistol in hand, he crept towards the source of the sound.  Maka was not in her bedroll and he was really hoping that they hadn't attracted truly determined pursuers that were the type to ambush lone women at dawn.  
  
Anyway, the crazy woman owed him money, and he wasn't particularly keen on returning to town without even any gold to soothe the irritation of explaining to the sheriff why he'd killed a man behind the inn.  So he crept through the trees and underbrush, cursed silently with every leaf and twig and rock that found its way into his socks and down his shirt, and realized after a few minutes of this that he shouldn't have even bothered, because the gunshot had been Maka killing a turkey for breakfast.  She looked entirely nonplussed when he approached, sticks and leaves in his hair and still in the clothes he'd slept in; graciously made no comment on the fact that he wasn't wearing shoes and had a gun in his hand.  
  
"I didn't mean to wake you just yet," she said, strange rifle slung over one shoulder and hands covered in blood as she dressed the bird.  "But since you are awake, how long do you reckon it will take us to find the general area in which my father has supposedly staked his claim?"  
  
"A few days," Soul said around a yawn, shivering in the morning chill.  "And who knows after that.  We'll have to hope that tart back in town was telling the truth, and find some pretty green ribbons to follow."  
  
"She was," Maka said, busy plucking the bird.  "My father's foolishness is quite distinct, and isn't easily counterfeited."  Soul yawned and tried not to shiver too much while she finished with the turkey, and followed her back with only minimal profanity for nature's continued assault on his unarmored person.  Maka cooked the bird while he packed up the camp and erased all sign of their presence, and they were back on the road not much more than an hour after dawn.  
  
By the time they found the first scraggly green ribbon, it had been four days, Maka was irate at the time expenditure, and Soul had learned exactly one additional thing about her that was worth noting: her rifle was uncannily fast to reload and she was a crack shot with it, so much so that Soul had decided that he was going to avoid ever getting into a marksmanship contest with her, his reputation as one of the best sharpshooters around notwithstanding.  It wasn't even a matter of different guns; he was a damn good shot with a rifle, too, but he knew when he was outclassed.   _Why_ she outclassed him, why an accountant from the city would ever have most of the skills she did, Soul still didn't know -- didn’t exactly believe her story about her father teaching her for some reason -- and wasn't sure he wanted to.  What he did know was that, when they found that first green ribbon, her eyes lit up like fireworks, and not with happiness.    
  
No, that was all evil anticipatory glee, and it made Soul's hair stand on end.  He led her down the pitiful excuse for a trail that the ribbon marked, though, for all that having his back to her when she was wearing that expression felt like suicide.  With any luck they'd find her father's claim soon and she could take it out on him rather than redirecting it Soul's way when she inevitably got impatient.  
  
He wasn't holding his breath, though.


	3. Who is your daddy and what does he do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of forgot to cross-post the rest here from ffn, my bad.

By the fourth day, Soul was beginning to seriously question his decision to work for Maka.  No amount of gold could be worth this -- worth days of fighting through the forest, following a green-ribbon marked path that faded in and out of existence and crossed as many game trails as possible.  Truthfully, that part was all right.  It wasn't enjoyable, and it made him want to strangle the man who'd tied the ribbons because they came at completely irregular intervals and were seldom found in places that were easy to see, but it was work, and he was prepared to let gold soothe his irritation.  What made it awful was Maka, growling under her breath at every rock and tree root and detour, glaring at everything but especially his back until he was certain she was going to put her knife in it, and constantly, incessantly cursing her father.  
  
Soul hadn't even known that the damn river _had_ this many tributaries, but he knew he'd never forget them because Maka blessed each one with a blistering, extremely unladylike string of bilous invective when they had to wade or otherwise find a way across them.  That part _was_ annoying; it was hell on his boots, on his leather chaps, on the horses' tack -- hell, on every damn thing they had that was made of leather, but damn it, Maka had decreed that they had to go gallivanting about in the wilderness to find her father instead of waiting for the man to show up in town, so it was just another unpleasant aspect of life that they had voluntarily decided to endure.  
  
An unpleasant aspect of life that Soul had _not_ expected to have to endure quite so soon came just after lunch on the fourth day, when he heard the very distinct sound of a gun being brought to bear and found a shotgun pressed to his temple while he was still attempting to turn and face his attacker.  That didn't stop him from drawing a gun, though, and while he didn't manage to aim it at anything immediately fatal the barrel was still pressed to the meat of the stranger's shoulder, and Soul was willing enough to bet that the man didn't want to find out whether or not it was in the right place to make him bleed out if Soul pulled the trigger.    
  
Problem was, it seemed that he'd decided that the best way to keep from finding that out was to blow Soul's brains out, because he saw the man's finger begin tightening on the trigger and was doing the same when Maka said, " _Papa_ ," on the tail end of a very exasperated sigh.  
  
The man gave a strange kind of full-body convulsion at the sound of his daughter's voice, and though his eyes went almost embarrassingly misty at the sight of Maka, the expression that said he was still very much considering shooting Soul somehow didn't waver.  
  
"Maka," he said in a strange singsong, and she made a sound halfway between affection and killing rage.  "Has this miscreant kidnapped you?  He must have, why else would you be keeping such disreputable company?  Don't worry, my beautiful daughter, paragon among women, I have rescued you and all shall be well."  
  
Obviously, Soul thought as a noise came from behind him that translated to Maka smacking her face into her palm in exasperation, that weird bipolarity was an inherited trait.  
  
"Sir," Soul said, hoping that it wouldn't get him shot, and, while it didn't, Spirit's tirade almost made him wish it had.  
  
"Don't you dare even open your foul mouth in her presence, lest some of the filthy magic that clings to you befoul her perfect spirit," he said in tones of the most righteous indignation, which Soul found to be completely at odds with the shabby way in which he was dressed.  "I can only hope that however long she has spent in your presence has not caused her any discomfort or harm.  Maka, darling, why are you glaring at me so?  Your papa _always_ has your best interests at heart.  Is not this beacon of foul magic a hazard?"  
  
" _Papa_ ," she said again, and this time there was a bite to her tone that made both men stand up straight.  "Remove your gun from my guide's head.  Soul, holster that pistol, if it please you."  She glowered at them until this was achieved, her father and Soul both eyeing each other as they complied, more concerned with Maka's retaliation if they disobeyed than with the other as a potential threat.  
  
"Very good," she said, arms crossed, and made a small motion with her head that Soul interpreted as a request for him to return to her side and put some distance between himself and Spirit's shotgun, which was lowered but still ready to fire at his side.  "Now, Papa, this man is not Medusa's associate, he is her victim, and that would have been plain if you had looked a little closer to see that he carries a curse."  
  
"All of her magic feels like curses," Spirit muttered, and then gave Maka a panicky, mollifying smile when her glare sharpened.  
  
"He is not a mindless revenant," she said, as if that ended the discussion.  "He is my guide, and he has been a bounty hunter and I suspect an assassin, and I trust him to keep me safe and not to betray me without serious provocation.  He has already saved my life once.  And Papa, if you had not decided to go hide in the wilderness looking for gold for months, I would not even be here to be in danger in the first place.  What ever has possessed you to do this?  If it's debt to the local whorehouses and casinos you were right to hide instead of wiring for money, because I would not have given it to you."  
  
"No debt, dearest daughter," Spirit said, so sincere with every endearment that it was making Soul uncomfortable.  "Merely that I have -- upset Medusa, shall we say, and I had to lay low and regroup lest she get the better of me.  There have been difficulties.  But to what do I owe the rapture of your presence?  Was it filial love that drove you to undertake such a long, horrible journey, just to make sure that your beloved Papa was safe and well?"  
  
"Oh, Papa," Maka said, glare faltering as her mouth curled just slightly at the corners, expression for a heartbeat affectionate before it cooled into something more like regret.  "No, I have bad news, and we need you to come back home to deal with it."  
  
"Oh," Spirit said, grip on his shotgun shifting nervously as he gave Soul a brief, unreadable glance.  "Well, here is no place for serious conversations.  Let's go back to my camp, and we can sort things out."  
  
Maka nodded, and they followed her father through half a mile or so of twisty forest paths before they stumbled into the tiny valley where he'd set up his prospecting operation.  Soul had to give it to the man, it was a good spot, hard to find and harder to usurp, and from the look of the river branch a very likely spot indeed for a man inclined to pan for gold.  They took seats around the little fire pit Spirit had made, and Maka let him make coffee and press hot mugs into their hands before she took a deep breath, looked at her drink, and said, "Marie is dead, Papa."  
  
Spirit, who had been prattling amiably about nothing important while he fussed with the coffeepot, all but fell onto his seat, heedless of the scalding coffee that slopped across his hand with the motion.  
  
"Marie," he said, hoarse of a sudden, and Soul was still staring at Maka, trying to process the abrupt turn their conversation had taken, when Spirit found his voice again.  "How, she was -- "  
  
"One of the best, I know," Maka said, voice soft with grief.  "No one knows.  Stein is mad with it, and with BJ dead alongside her no one is sure what to think."  
  
"They died _together?_ " Spirit said, incredulous.  "What could possibly defeat them both at the same time?"  
  
Maka looked away, sipped at her coffee; Soul's eyebrows crept up towards his hairline at this sudden information.  "That's the problem.  The police are after Stein, because they know that he and Marie were involved at one time, and Kid can't prove that Stein _didn't_ do it, especially not since he skipped town.  What _could_ kill them both, Papa?  I don't think Stein did -- I know he didn't, he would never have -- but to take them together without causing a lot of damage they would have had to have been caught off guard, and I don't see how _that_ could happen, either, unless something truly horrible is loose in the city.  That's why I had to come get you -- Stein has run off to Charleston to hide with Justin, and with only myself and Kid left, well, we're stretched a little thin.  Every day we're gone is another day in which Arachne becomes more powerful, and I fear that if we do not return soon we won't have much to return _to_."  
  
Soul was startled to see that Spirit, when he bothered to look serious, became a man who inspired confidence: thoughtful and competent as he sorted through his information and formulated a plan, and maybe Maka had managed to inherit _something_ from him after all aside from insanity.  
  
"Medusa will have to wait, then," Spirit said after a moment's thought, and even his posture had shifted, something in the set of his shoulders and curve of his spine becoming authoritative, strong.  "You are correct, daughter.  I made some arrangements before I headed out here.  There should be a boat awaiting my pleasure at San Francisco; we can be on our way home in a few days.  Let's not wait around; I'll get packed and we can leave directly."  
  
"Good," Maka said.  "Your little _upset_ with Medusa almost got me killed back in town.  If not for Soul, I probably would not have made it out here.  I sincerely hope that you have not offended her so grievously that we cannot make it home, Papa."  
  
" _What_ ," Spirit said, outraged, expression a deeply unsettling mix of unbridled wrath and weeping concern for his daughter.  "She's stopped so low as to attack _you_ , my beautiful, uninvolved daughter?"  He growled, frustrated, and Soul started looking for something to duck behind lest he start firing that shotgun.  "Still, she will have to wait.  But mark my words, when we finish with Arachne, I will return here, and I shall have my vengeance."  
  
"Papa," Maka sighed, rubbing at one of her temples, "this is nothing new.  It's why you taught me to fight.  They _always_ go after me, it's how we've managed to take so many down."  
  
"Of course it is, because you are as dangerous as you are stunning, but that makes it _no less_ of an outrage."  He stood and made as if to stomp about, ranting; Maka stood as well and caught his forearm in an iron grip.  
  
"Papa," she said, a picture of stern resolve, "stop.  We need to get moving.  We aren't safe, and we have responsibilities  to see to."  
  
Spirit looked at her, blue eyes soft for a moment with something Soul wanted to label regret, and kind of -- deflated, righteous indignation gone as quickly as it had come.  "You are correct, as always," he said, and his shoulders squared again, but this time with resolve.  "Let's go.  There are more important things than personal vendettas."  
  
Maka nodded and let him go, and Soul blinked in surprise as both Albarns, having decided upon a course of action, stood immediately and began packing up.  Maka collected all of Spirit's supplies while the man himself went to disarm a series of traps on the far side of the clearing.  They moved fast, these -- whatever they were.  Soul didn't believe that Spirit was a trader any more than he really believed that Maka was naught but an accountant, but neither of them seemed inclined to educate him in any way other than having oblique conversations about what was as of yet classified information in his earshot.  Though if they kept doing that, Soul figured he'd probably know what was going on soon enough; the discussion they'd just had had basically given the lie to everything Maka had told him.    
  
Well, perhaps not the _lie_ , but she had clearly omitted so much information that she might as well have fed him an entirely fictional account, and that rankled.  
  
"I suppose I'll be returning to town, then, if you're not going to track down Medusa before you leave," he said, irritated and feeling as though he were talking to himself since neither Maka nor Spirit were paying him even the slightest mind.  
  
Spirit paused, up to his elbows in a hidden hole in the ground.  "We will be returning to deal with her," he said, eyeing Soul.  "What is the nature of your curse?"  
  
"She made him hunger for souls," Maka said, packing away Spirit's cooking utensils as she watched him, green eyes cautious because -- Soul assumed -- she knew exactly why his tone had been sharp and was waiting for him to take action.  "Not a revenant, because his mind was strong enough to resist the full change, which Medusa no doubt expected.  He has decided he will only consume the souls of the wicked, and left the witch's service because of it."  
  
"And what happens when you eat souls, young man?" Spirit asked, still watching him as though calculating how long it would take to bring his shotgun to bear in the event Soul answered wrongly.  
  
"It makes me stronger, for a little while," Soul said, forcing himself to stay seated and not draw a pistol or outright leave, because that would be unprofessional.  He wanted to, though, because now Spirit was staring at his red eyes and sharp teeth with a knowing look, comparing him, no doubt, to an actual revenant and assigning him weaknesses that he had no right to.  "Slakes the hunger.  I fight a lot better when I'm not starving."  
  
"You fight quite well when you _are_ starving," Maka said, and Soul raised an eyebrow at her, ever so slightly placated by the compliment, before shrugging.  
  
"The prospect of breaking a long and desperate fast motivates many a beast to fight with unheard-of ferocity," Spirit said with an entirely unexpected flair for poetic speech that did not involve his daughter, and Soul was still trying to decide whether he wanted to interpret that as a compliment or a threat when Maka finished packing her bundle and walked past him to secure it to one of the horses.  
  
"At least come with us to San Francisco," she said, and Soul had a moment where he thought she almost looked _apologetic_ , but surely that was hoping for far too much.  "I shall pay you there if you wish to leave my service, and you will have earned a great deal of money for not very much work."  
  
Soul considered informing her that he wasn't certain any amount of money would be worth having to deal with her intractable personality and deceptive nature, but remembered that he didn't feel like being stabbed -- and Spirit would probably blow his head off for insulting his precious little girl, anyway.  Instead he gave her a grin that made Spirit scowl -- whether because of the nature of it or because of his teeth Soul didn't know -- and said, "I had no intention of leaving without collecting my pay.  I'll follow you wherever I must to make sure that I get paid, and my fee will rise accordingly dependent on how long it takes you to reimburse me."  
  
“Your persistence is admirable,” she said, expression edging towards something that would have been a suggestive smirk on anyone else, and Soul was still gawking at her, half convinced the world might be ending, when Spirit and Maka both abruptly stopped what they were doing to stare at a nondescript point in the trees before throwing themselves to the ground just in time for a gunshot to destroy the mood.  
  
Well, Maka threw herself towards Soul so she could shove him facefirst into the dirt, but that wasn’t important, since the bullet had been aimed at Spirit and anyway, Soul was more concerned with the fact that Black Star had just leapt from the trees hellbent on drop kicking Spirit’s skull into oblivion.  
  
Soul shouldered Maka off of him and scrambled to his feet, pistols in his hands and scanning the trees rather than bother trying to get a good shot at the blur that was Black Star and Spirit brawling, but Tsubaki was, as ever, nothing if not competent, and by the time he located her she already had her rifle pointed at his head.  Maka obviously had no concern for his continued existence, though, because she rushed Tsubaki, knife gleaming in her hand, and Soul was obscenely grateful for the fact that Maka was fast enough so that Tsubaki had to drop her rifle to defend herself rather than shoot him.  As suddenly as he’d found himself unable to act Soul found himself at liberty, and he threw himself at Tsubaki, prepared for and unimpressed by the flashbang she threw down to knock Maka off-kilter.  He knocked her to the ground and put a pistol to her temple, giving Maka a look and a head gesture that meant she’d better go help her father, because Black Star was a force to be reckoned with.  
  
That and Soul was nowhere near as good at hand to hand combat as Maka, and her father was seemingly just as good if not better given the way he was handling Black Star.  Soul almost forgot that he was threatening Tsubaki as he watched Maka weave her way into the fight, blocking and countering alongside her father until Black Star was forced to go on the defensive, the gleam of Maka’s knife convincing him to exercise caution in a way that fighting two opponents never could.  
  
Then Tsubaki tried to knee him in the groin, and the scuffle that ensued distracted Black Star enough that he missed a beat and took a heavy kick to the side from Maka that made him stumble.  By the time Soul managed to restrain Tsubaki again, Spirit had Black Star on the ground as well -- though for how long was up for debate, as the smaller man was struggling hard enough that it seemed to be all Spirit could do to keep him from breaking free.  
  
"Honestly, Papa," Maka said, returning to her father's side with a length of rope in her hands, "you make everything so difficult."  With that she kicked Black Star hard enough in the gut that he doubled over, swearing, halting his struggles long enough for her to tie him up with practiced ease as if she did that sort of thing every day.  
  
Thankfully Tsubaki was much more practical than her partner, and did not require any encouragement from Maka's heavy boots to allow herself to be tied up and searched for weapons.  
  
"You'll never find all the knives," Soul said several minutes later as Maka set aside yet another pair of throwing knives with an expression of growing incredulity.  "Just tie her up so she can't move at all and call it a day.  And Tsubaki," he continued, smirking at the enraged glint in her dark eyes, "what the hell are you two doing out here, anyway?  Does Medusa want this man dead so badly that she decided to send her best assassins after him?"  
  
"You should be flattered," Black Star said as Spirit dragged him over.  "We're the best she's got, and for some reason she thinks you deserve the best."  Spirit dropped him and he fell onto his side in front of Soul, flinching as the impact aggravated the no-doubt impressive bruise he had from Maka's kick.  "Not that I don't see _why_ , now that I see this clown fight, but we weren't exactly expecting to find anyone here but the old man.  You chase this skirt all the way out here, Soul?  Hoping for a snack, maybe?"  
  
Spirit was making indignant noises over Black Star's use of the term 'old man,' but Soul was oblivious, too busy snarling, sharp teeth bared, and pressing one of his guns to Black Star's temple.  
  
"This is _your fault_ ," he growled, and Black Star gave him a furious glare, straining against the ropes that bound him and eager to fight.  
  
"It isn't my fault, you blind fool," Black Star snapped, the corded muscle of his shoulders still flexing.  "What, did you want Medusa to curse you _and_ make you watch me die because I tried to save you?"  
  
"You were never afraid of risking your life _before_ ," Soul said, aware suddenly of the fact that Maka and Spirit were watching their exchange with nearly identical quizzical expressions.  "What changed that day, Black Star?  Why did you choose that moment to decide that I wasn't worth the trouble of risking your neck?"  
  
Black Star glared and said nothing, and after a minute or so Soul made a derisive sound, too angry to care about the fact that the sheer amount of rage and insulted honor in Black Star's expression meant he was a dead man.  "I never would have expected cowardice from you.  What did Medusa do to you?"  
  
Still no response; Spirit shifted as if to resume his interrupted packing and Maka made as if to speak, but both were interrupted when Tsubaki gave Black Star a hard stare before twisting to face them as best she could.  
  
"Medusa did nothing to him," she said, and quelled her partner's protests with a glance.  "She knows better than to try to force a man like Black Star.  She has my brother, Masamune, and the ancient witch-slaying sword he inherited from our father, and although she is driving him mad, if we disobey her she will kill him outright."  
  
So that was why, Soul thought as Spirit quizzed Tsubaki about the sword and her brother.  Black Star had lost his nerve because he'd finally found something that he couldn't bear to lose.  
  
"Sentiment," he muttered, the word blending into little more than an indecipherable bass rumble, and Maka shot him an inquiring look while Black Star's expression shuttered and he looked away.  
  
"How do you know this man?" Maka asked, eyes flicking between them.  
  
"He used to be my partner, when I was working for Medusa," Soul said, red eyes fixed on Black Star's.  "And then he slipped up and Medusa caught him, so that when she cursed me he stood by and watched because seeing me hurt was preferable to the alternative."  
  
"If it'd just been putting _myself_ in danger -- " Black Star said, and Soul interrupted him with a wave.  
  
"I understand, even if I don't like it," he said.  "You can't help it, I suppose.  But you might want to get out of this business before it really catches up to you."  
  
"Sure," Black Star said, all sarcasm, "I'll do that, Soul.  I'll just untie myself and walk back home and ask Medusa to let Tsubaki have her brother back because I'd like to retire.  I'm sure she won't have any problem with that request."  
  
"No one is going to be asking Medusa anything," Spirit declared before Soul could snipe back.  "Soul, these two are trustworthy?"  
  
"When they haven't been compromised," Soul grumbled, causing Black Star to writhe again in an attempt to kick him.  
  
"All right," Spirit said, settling back on his heels.  "Tsubaki, Black Star, I have an offer for you.  Maka and I are leaving post haste for New York City.  Tsubaki tells me that her brother is being kept in a warehouse by the docks, and I feel certain that if we plan it correctly we stand a good chance of being able to liberate him on our way out of town.  Now: if we free Masamune, will you two leave Medusa's service and work for me instead?"  
  
"Work for you doing _what_ , old man," Black Star said, still glowering at Soul as if determined to kill him through sheer force of ill will.  
  
"Not that it's any of my business since you seem to have decided to leave me behind," Soul said, ignoring the illogical feeling of disappointment that that fact had engendered, "but I agree with Black Star: what _is_ it that you and Maka do, Spirit?  I think I deserve to know _that_ much at least, because I don't believe all she does is accounting work and I definitely don't believe that you're nothing but a trader, and all these omissions and lies are seriously compromising our ability to work together."  
  
"No one is leaving you behind, Soul Eater," Spirit said, and in his mouth Soul's name sounded like a title.  "You are still in my daughter's employ, and you need only leave it if you wish -- provided you don't give me a reason to see you meet the same fate I normally reserve for witches and those with warped souls.  And just so we're clear, that includes putting your grubby hands on her, so keep to yourself."  
  
" _Excuse_ me?" Soul said, caught between Spirit's thunderous expression and Maka's rapidly darkening glare, though Black Star's howling laughter was a close second.  "Are you insane?  Who in their right mind -- "  He decided to quit while he was ahead, coughed to cover it up.  "You needn't worry about your daughter's virtue, sir.  Now -- what kind of work is it we'll be doing if we follow you across the continent to New York?"  
  
“Why, you’ll be helping to _save the world from the forces of evil_ ,” Spirit proclaimed, clearly of the opinion that no one would ever turn down the opportunity.  Tsubaki blinked, too polite not to school her expression, but Soul and Black Star gave him almost identical incredulous stares.  
  
Maka gave him a look of unamused exasperation.    
  
“We kill witches,” she said to Soul and Black Star, green eyes hard.  “We track down and neutralize the insane and the evil before they become threats.  Which isn’t to say,” she added, giving Soul a look that made it clear he had better keep his mouth shut, “that we do not also have a perfectly legitimate business.  It is just not our _primary_ business.”  
  
Soul gave her a bland, innocent look while Black Star surged forward and said, “Wait, you mean you want to offer me money and better treatment to do the same job I do now, except for a better cause and I might get to off the bitch who’s making my life miserable?  Where do I sign up?”  
  
Spirit untied Black Star and Tsubaki so he could sling an arm around their shoulders and lead them a little ways away, discussing all the ways in which they could free Tsubaki’s brother and hopefully cause as much chaos as possible in the process, leaving Soul and Maka alone together in the encroaching evening.  
  
“Does he trust everyone so easily?” Soul asked, dropping back onto his seat by the fire, and Maka shrugged, watching her father with hard eyes.  
  
“He can sense that they aren’t bad people,” she said.  “That they aren’t mad, or tainted, and that they’re more or less in line with his thinking.  We have that ability, and you would too if you’d train it.  That’s why I knew you were a man I could rely upon -- while you’ve obviously been steeped in and changed by Medusa’s magic, it has not corrupted your basic nature, which is trustworthy and reliable.  Given what circumstances I might have run into, there was no man who could be counted on to stay loyal no matter what; your base nature and vendetta against the witch made you easily the best choice, particularly given my options.”  
  
“You have an amazing knack for making compliments sound like insults,” Soul said, voice as unamused as his expression, and Maka gave him another one of those blinding-brief grins.  
  
“It’s true, though,” she said, voice brisk, all fact, “and you’ve acquitted yourself very well so far.  Hopefully Papa can remember that for all that a man’s basic nature and morality may make him trustworthy in most circumstances, most men will betray the things they hold dear given proper impetus.”  
  
“We all have something to lose, eh,” Soul said, watching her and poking at the fire, wondering if he _did_ have anything to lose any more that could be used against him.


	4. I think she's serious

"Maka," Soul said days later, in the interminable limbo of their journey back to civilization -- such as it existed in California -- and she turned cool green eyes his way.  "I agreed to your offer because I want to kill Medusa, because I believe that her death will free me from this curse."  He looked down at his hands on the reins, felt the shift of his horse underneath him, and drew a deep breath, even still unwilling to admit certain suspicions to himself.  "Is that correct?"  
  
She made an odd face at him, nose wrinkling, uncomfortable, and appeared to look _through_ him for a moment.  "I don't think so," she said, reluctant.  "For a normal witch, yes; her death would mean the termination of any magic she had created unless it had been specifically constructed to last, and curses aren't normally like that.  Whatever Medusa has done to you feels permanent, though.  I don't know if you'll ever regain your original physical form.  To look at the curse -- and this is hardly my area of expertise -- it seems like the physical changes were merely a by-product of whatever she was actually trying to do to you."  
  
"I've seen revenants before," Soul said, remembering too well snow-white skin, emaciated frames, blood red eyes with no white or pupils, needle-sharp teeth.  Remembered soulless, hungry stares, crazed feral things waiting for an opportunity to strike.  "I know where the changes and the hunger come from.  I didn't expect that I would go back to looking the way I did before, anyway.  I was just hoping that her death might free me from this damnable hunger."  
  
Maka gave him a look full of regret, and shrugged.  "I couldn't say for sure.  This isn't an area in which I have a lot of knowledge.  My mother would know, or Doctor Stein, but we are a very long way from either of them.”  She looked at him again.  “I do not think killing Medusa would revert things back to how they were, though.”  
  
"Ah," Soul said, and exhaled noisily, staring into the distance rather than see the sympathy, however muted, in Maka's eyes.  "Then staying here serves me no purpose, when I have the opportunity for steady work that may well culminate in her death.  You said that you and your father are after her sister?"  
  
Maka made a noise of affirmation, and Soul nodded, resolve firming his expression.  "I think your line of work might suit me.  It's a rare witch who isn't causing trouble enough that she's earned execution, and I'm sick of working for whatever fool can afford to hire me."  
  
"Your skills are, from what I've seen, refined enough to warrant more civilized employers," Maka said, tone so neutral that Soul pulled himself back to reality and looked at her, which made her smirk at him a little.  "Tell me," she said, voice carefully lighter than it had been, warmer, "what did you look like before the curse?"  
  
Soul's brows climbed up and up and Maka didn't exactly _pout_ at him, but the look she gave him made it clear that if he said anything she didn't like or kept making that face she might stab him.  
  
"I looked normal," he said, after schooling his expression as best he could.  "You wouldn't have picked me out of a crowd of men, because I looked no different than they.  Covert work was so much easier when looking people in the face didn't give me away."  
  
Maka exhaled, an amused huff; Soul gave her a sidelong look and attributed her behaviour to the double relief of having found her father and then not having to actually travel with him: they had come to the conclusion that they would be safer if they made the trip separately, with Black Star and Tsubaki riding disguised alongside Spirit.  
  
"Medusa checks in on us from time to time, you know," Black Star had said.  "She sees me and Tsubaki with Soul, she's going to know something isn't right.  We'll escort the old man and Soul can escort his daughter, and everybody will be happier."  
  
So they had split up, and Soul and Maka had taken the long way back just to give the appearance of having met up with Black Star and Tsubaki and split from them quickly, as if from a fight, and here he was having strange conversations with a murderous accountant.  
  
"What," he said after Maka made no further comment past the noise, and she laughed, just a little; shrugged, an almost embarrassed roll of her shoulders.  
  
"I think you must surely be much more striking now than you were before," she said, and he blinked in surprise at her.  
  
"If you want to call shark teeth and red eyes striking," he said, feeling almost cheated when she gave him a level stare instead of displaying some kind of normal female behaviour after making such a comment -- even a little blush would have been nice.  Certainly it would have been _seemly_ to display proper modesty, but Soul was far past expecting Maka to waste time on being seemly when it interfered with completing the task at hand or inconvenienced her personally.  "I can't say as looking like some kind of freakish revenant has endeared me to much of anyone, much less the fairer sex."  
  
Maka shrugged again.  "I do not find most people interesting, Soul Eater, but I find that you are capable of holding my attention.  As to your appearance -- what is to like in a man who looks or acts so like his fellows as to be indistinguishable?  The witch may have done you a good turn, if you choose to bend it to your advantage."  She smirked.  "Far better to do that, and make a strength out of what was supposed to induce weakness, than let her know that she has managed to hurt you."  
  
"You think?" he said, and she made no reply other than a cool stare and raised brows, so he dug around in one of his saddlebags for a bit of jerky and sank sharp teeth into it for the sake of having something to do, puzzling over her comment in his head until they stopped for the night.  
  
\--  
  
They reached San Francisco well behind Spirit.  Maka led Soul not, as he would have expected, in the direction of most of the general stores, but towards the district that contained the boarding houses.  They ambled through the busy city and got hardly a second glance that didn’t have to do with other people steering clear of their horses’ path; Maka had bound her hair up and settled her hat on her head with an almost challenging finality that morning, staring at Soul as she put on leather boots, chaps, and her long coat as if daring him to comment on how like a slim young man the outfit made her look.  
  
Instead, Soul grinned at her and said, “That’s a clever ruse,” approval evident in his voice.  “Saves you a lot of trouble, I’d bet.”  
  
“Yes,” she said, settling into her saddle without a single wasted movement.  “They know my father has a daughter; they often do not think to pay the young male clerk any mind.  It is a bit of a tradeoff, though.  They underestimate me more when they know I’m female, no matter how they have been warned beforehand not to trifle with me.”  
  
Soul got himself on his horse and hummed from the saddle as they set off.  “Don’t blame them,” he said, still grinning, looking at the way the early morning sunlight limned her features.  “You’re a pretty little slip of a girl.  It’s hard to believe just how cold-blooded you are without seeing it in action.”  
  
That had earned him a look that was caught somewhere between death threat and embarrassed pleasure, and Soul counted that a victory and didn’t press his luck for the remainder of the trip.  
  
And then they were in San Francisco, and Maka was attempting to explain her father.  "Papa was going to open a goods shop," she said, a certain hard glint in her eye that made Soul preemptively employ his sharp teeth in biting his lip to school his expression, "but it seems Medusa is already in the business, and did not take kindly to his intruding upon her territory.  However, Papa can occasionally marry his pleasure with his business, and found another niche to exploit which may actually be more lucrative -- if of much more questionable morality."  
  
"He hasn't opened a brothel, has he?" Soul asked, almost afraid of the answer -- or perhaps of Maka's potential reaction to it.  
  
"No," she said, curt.  "Papa wouldn't.  It isn't too far off, though, and had I been here at the time we would undoubtedly have quarrelled over it.  He has opened a place that offers the amenities of home -- a hot meal, laundry services, things of that nature."  She glanced at him, expression hard and difficult to read.  "I'm sure you know, living here, that the female population is painfully low, so much so that far from being in danger many women find themselves in unique positions of power.  All of Papa's services are performed by attractive ladies, and I do not know how he found them, let alone how he managed to convince them to actually work for him, but he did.”  
  
She fell quiet and Soul didn’t comment, not interested in provoking Maka’s temper.  
  
“I must admit,” she said after a few minutes, “that it was an excellent move on his part from a tactical perspective.  Not only will it bring us a great deal of money, men talk to attractive women, as my father himself demonstrates to an embarrassing degree.  We will gather money and information alike, so that when we return we will be as prepared as possible.  Depending on the employees he has found in the past days while he has been waiting for our return, we may not even need to return to deal with Medusa.”  Her eyes flicked his way.  “That said, if it seems that that may be the case, would you rather stay here and attempt to secure your revenge instead of accompanying us to New York?”  
  
The woman seemed to relish asking him difficult questions.  Soul considered it as they rode, weighing losing the opportunity to exact revenge personally against what almost seemed like a second chance -- he could get out of California, give up mercenary bounty hunting for what appeared to be a more enjoyable job with better morals, a bit of a righteous quality that he found he rather liked.  Spirit wasn’t quite what Soul would call the ideal employer, but technically he was working for Maka at the moment, and that, well --  
  
“I know you want your revenge,” Maka said, startling him out of his meandering thoughts.  “Heaven knows I understand that.”  She sighed, gloved hands tapping the pommel of her saddle, eyes fixed firmly ahead.  “My mother told me once that revenge is something you only want when you feel powerless.  Remove the feeling of helplessness, and the desire goes away.”  
  
They were in dangerous waters, and she seemed to know it as well as Soul; Maka paused and looked at him, green eyes somber, but only that -- there was no cautionary light of implied violence in them, no disapproval or challenge, just a kind of quiet understanding.  
  
“That was when I was little, when she and Papa split up and I swore I would never forgive him, because what other revenge could I have?  She told me that right before she left, and years later I thought it through and forgave him.  It was years more before we could be comfortable with each other, and it still lingers between us, but,” and she shrugged.  “Accept whatever it is that has hurt you, whatever circumstances you fight against, and do what you must to set things right.  What cannot be set aright, you must let go and move on.”  She gave him a tired smile.  “Difficult advice, I know, and I am not nearly so adept at heeding my own words as I might wish, but it is all the counsel I can offer you, Soul Eater Evans.  I hope to have you accompany me to New York.”  
  
That comment was nearly enough to make him forget just how _ravenous_ the thought of consuming Medusa’s soul made him, and Soul gaped at her, the points of his teeth barely visible, earning him a terrifying grin from Maka, there and gone so fast he wondered if he’d hallucinated it in his shock.    
  
"Besides," she said, not bothering to look at him again, "at this point I feel almost responsible for making sure you learn what it's like to bathe on a regular basis and wear respectable clothing."  
  
"Respectable clothing's worthless," he grumbled, scowling.  "Wouldn't last five minutes in the saddle."  
  
Maka snickered, but Soul didn't have a chance to press the issue -- minutes later Maka was reining in her horse in front of a tidy two story building, passing her reins to a busty young blonde who turned to Soul and positively _simpered_ as she asked to take his horse.  Maka went from smirking amusement to prickly disapproval so fast it made Soul's head hurt.  That might also have been the mostly-unbuttoned shirt the girl was wearing, though, and the way Soul found himself practically falling into her cleavage as he set his feet on the ground and made to hand over his horse.  She giggled when she took the reins, big blue eyes beguiling, and he smiled down at her -- it always was nice when a woman was shorter than him -- and didn't protest when her free hand gave his bicep an appreciative squeeze.  
  
Except Maka's glare was murderous and directed at him, and the girl caught sight of his eyes and teeth and let go as if burned.  Soul sighed and turned to Maka as the girl made a hasty retreat, his smile fading into a kind of grim resignation that made some of Maka's ire fade.  There was a moment of silence as they regarded each other, and at last Maka's mouth drew into a thin line and she jerked her head in the direction of the building behind them, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of her coat.  
  
"Let's go," she said, and Soul nodded.  He entered the building on her heels and wondered why the slender brunette behind the counter gave them such a strange look, because he did not see what she did: a dangerous woman in men's clothes, hard-eyed and obviously carrying hidden weapons, accompanied by a taller man who moved like her shadow, pistols on his hips and strange red eyes frightening.  She jumped when Maka strode to the counter, glancing around at the variety of small supplies and amenities the store sold, and said, "I'm looking for Spirit Albarn.  Is he here?"  
  
"Yes," the girl said, eyes darting nervously between Maka and Soul, who was inspecting the list of amenities offered that he'd found posted by the door.  "Should I -- "  
  
"Where is he?" Maka said, not waiting to deal with pointless pleasantries when she was perfectly capable of finding and dealing with her father on her own.  
  
"Upstairs," the girl said, "but you really shouldn't -- "  
  
"Never you mind," Maka said, one hand locking on Soul's elbow as she strode past him, heading for the stairs.  "My father and I have business to attend to."  
  
The first thing she said to Spirit once they had climbed the narrow stairs and made their way to the corner room he was using as an office was, "You need to work on your security, Papa," followed immediately by, "and who is this?"  
  
"Maka!" Spirit exclaimed, standing in a rush from behind his desk and all but vaulting over it so he could embrace his daughter while she sighed and, after a moment, hugged him back.  "I'm so glad you're safe!  I don't know what I would have done if -- "  
  
He was cut off by the sound of Soul and the fourth person in the room clearing their throats in tandem, and as Spirit let go of his daughter with a put-upon cast to his features Soul appraised the woman seated across from Spirit's desk, nodding respectfully when she didn't flinch away at the sight of his eyes.  She was neatly put together, hair cut with meticulous precision, clothes pressed and clean, her spectacles balanced just so as she gave Spirit an almost chastising look.   
  
"If we could, Mr. Albarn," she said, and Maka disentangled herself from her father, shooting Soul a glance of veiled gratitude as she moved to stand near him -- on the other side of the door, actually, no doubt hoping to escape her father's presence as swiftly as possible.  
  
"Call me Spirit, please," Spirit said, smile broadening until Soul quirked an eyebrow at the transformation from devoted father into lecher.  "Maka," he said, eyes shifting to Soul for just a heartbeat, "Soul, this is Yu -- "  
  
"Azusa," the woman said, and stood to shake hands, grip just strong enough to let Soul know that she, at least, was serious.  Thankfully _her_ shirt was well buttoned; she was just as well-endowed and perhaps even more slim-waisted than the girl who took their horses had been, but nothing in her manner suggested that staring would result in anything other than injury.  
  
"A pleasure," Maka said, and managed to put on an acceptable smile before proceeding to watch her father and Soul with equal suspicion, arms crossed and not entirely succeeding in hiding how much being around other women discomfited her.  Which was strange, Soul thought, because with combat skills and an intellect like hers Maka should have been more than confident in most situations, but --  
  
Then Azusa sat back down, crossed long, slim legs, and Soul watched Spirit's eyes rake over her head to toe.  Soul decided then that Maka really might want to work on that inferiority complex she seemed to have spent years developing to truly mammoth proportions, however much her father might have exacerbated the problem.  Amended that thought with a footnote about the possibility of this being a reaction to her mother leaving, but he didn't know _why_ she'd left and couldn't comment without further information.  
  
"I was sent to manage this operation," Azusa said, cool dark eyes watching Spirit for any sign of bad behavior.  "Since Spirit must return to New York, someone competent needs to take this area in hand.  I will see to the running of the business, the hiring of any further girls, and the procurement of information.  Should it come to such a situation, I will also handle Medusa if extenuating or very fortunate circumstances arise.  And now that you two are here, we may begin formulating a plan to secure Nakatsukasa Masamune, who is by all reports both mad and being kept in one of the warehouses near the docks."  
  
"Where are Black Star and Tsubaki?" Soul asked, irritated.  He hadn't signed up for immediate clandestine strategy meetings upon arrival, and objected to them being prioritized over him getting a meal and a bath.  And shaving.  "We shouldn't be discussing plans without them here."  
  
"They have been here and gone," Azusa said, giving him a look that made Soul feel like an idiot for thinking she would overlook such an important detail.  "They know where to look and when, never fear.  Now.  Here is how we intend to accomplish this..."  
  
\--  
  
Soul had not signed up for this.  He had never agreed to do this kind of work, and while he wouldn't have turned the job down he would have negotiated a price in advance and known what he was getting into instead of having it thrown at him without warning.  Everything with Maka seemed to happen without warning, though, including her complete and irrational hatred of Spirit and Azusa's choice of companion on their little heist.  Spirit was capable of seeing witch-magic, much more so than Maka, who could only pick  up on trap-spells and their general area, and had gone with Black Star and Tsubaki to serve in that capacity.  Soul and Maka, ill-equipped to deal with the level of magical fortification that Medusa had placed on _every warehouse_ because she was spiteful, had been assigned a third member, currently curled around Soul's neck and purring in his ear.  
  
"Closer," the cat purred, the word a silken suggestion that Soul was having trouble ignoring, even if she _was_ only referring to his proximity to the warehouse door.  He leaned in closer and the cat flicked her tail just enough to brush it over the surface of the door -- and, not incidentally, along his jaw and behind his ear in a rush of tickling warmth that made his skin prickle -- which had the fortunate effect of removing all of the enchantments on it meant to deter intruders in the most fatal ways possible.  
  
The cat's name was Blair, and Soul almost preferred her human shape -- outlandishly buxom and curvy though it was, at least as a woman she couldn't drape herself around his neck in _quite_ such a fashion.  Blair was a witch, one of the rare ones not interested in accumulating power and the incidental madness it caused, and Spirit had taken to her from the moment he saw her.   
  
Unsurprising, given her _assets_.  She seemed reliable enough, though, and despite Maka's hatred and suspicion even she had to admit that there was nothing about Blair to render her untrustworthy so long as her interest in their venture remained.  Even then Soul suspected that, like the cat whose form she took, Blair would simply leave should her interest flag; if one could get past her lackadaisical attitude and obscenely suggestive methods of communicating, she made for a powerful ally.  
  
Maka wasn't ever going to get past all that, though, and Soul wouldn't expect her to; he himself was having enough trouble with it as it was, and he wasn't female, threatened, or trying to deal with a womanizing father figure.  
  
But they had a job to do.  He pushed the now-harmless door open and stepped through, Maka close behind him, and found himself abruptly in total darkness.  
  
“Oops,” Blair murmured, and Soul could have sworn he felt a rough tongue graze his ear.  “Forgot to check for secondary traps.”  She purred again, warm breath puffing against sensitive skin, and while Soul considered the possible downsides to throwing her across the warehouse said, “Your little matches won’t work, but you should be safe.  Blair will tell you where to walk, and soon we will have the lights back.”  
  
"Is he even in here," Soul muttered, unwilling to navigate a warehouse full of deadly traps with only a cat to guide him if their quarry wasn't even there -- and so far Masamune remained undiscovered, despite the fact that they had gone to three warehouses already and the night was beginning to wane.  
  
Maka crowded against his back, shutting the door behind her; the guards would return soon enough, tired of chasing after the little distraction Blair had created, and they needed things to at least _appear_ undisturbed.    
  
"He's here," she said in a low mutter, nearly as close to his left ear as Blair was to his right, and Soul ground his teeth together so hard he thought they might lose some of their edge.  
  
"Fine," Soul said, and grabbed hold of Maka’s wrist, reflecting only after he'd done so that grabbing about in the dark for her could have ended very poorly for him, and nearly had anyway -- he'd felt her jump when he touched her, muscles tensing and hand twitching towards her knife before she quelled the reaction.  He could smell the magic here, Medusa's traps acrid in his nose -- green electric magic like poison, like a riled snake waiting to strike.  "Lead on and let's get the hell out of here.  I have no desire to be in proximity to that witch's magic for a moment longer than absolutely necessary."  
  
"Of course," Blair said, and her tail curled round his throat.  Soul wanted to grab her and throw her into a trap, have done with it and eat that delectable witch's soul she carried; he took a deep, calming breath and forced himself to relax before he accidentally crushed Maka's wrist, certain those slim bones would snap like twigs if he wasn't careful.  Except that was a stupid thing to think and might get him killed if Maka caught on.    
  
"She'll have given the guards instructions," Blair muttered, the warm languor of her voice fading as she thought.  "Simple instructions, so they don't get themselves killed should they find themselves inside with no light.  Assuming she cares if they live or die, anyway.  But there _has_ to be a path, so..."  
  
A pause.  Soul tried to hold still, focused all his energy on ignoring Blair's tail round his neck and Maka's wrist in his hand and how _close_ to him they both were, took another deep, deep breath and told the ravenous part of himself that Medusa had created to go to hell.  
  
"Take five steps forward," Blair said at length, and Soul gave Maka's wrist a warning squeeze before he moved, five measured steps with Maka muttering under her breath at having to stay pressed against his back.  "Turn 45 degrees left, take three steps, make a half-circle to your right and take ten steps."  
  
The instructions continued, and just as Soul was starting to think Blair was walking them in circles for her own amusement the witch said, "Here," and Soul exhaled heavily, relieved.  Claustrophobia had never been a problem of his, but something about the all-encompassing blackness of the warehouse and its traps weighed on him, perhaps even more so than Maka's proximity or Blair's deliberate efforts to make him uncomfortable.    
  
"What about here," he said, and Maka pulled her wrist free as Blair chuckled in his ear.  
  
"Light a match, Soul Eater," she said.  "It will work here because it has to.  Medusa is not so contrary as to doom everyone who enters this warehouse to death; she needs someone to care for her prisoner when she isn't here, after all."  
  
Soul fumbled in his pockets and came up with matches; managed, after a few increasingly irritated attempts, to light a match in the dark, the light from its tiny flame searing his eyes and illuminating an oil lamp hanging from a nail on the wall.  It didn't illuminate much else, though; their little pool of light extended only a few feet on either side of the lamp before being swallowed abruptly by the darkness, creating a very distinct barrier that Soul didn't care for at all.  
  
He was still eyeing the shadows when Maka grabbed his matches and pushed him out of the way with a huffed, "Fine, I'll do it," match coming to life in her hands on the first strike.  Soul managed to stop staring at the thick shadows of the warehouse long enough to watch her light the lamp, fingers delicate on the curved glass as she lifted it, then leaned close to examine the fuel in its base.  
  
"Kerosene," she said, eyebrows high.  "Medusa has connections in a lot of places, it seems."  
  
"Surprise," Soul said, glancing around the warehouse now that the impenetrable darkness of Medusa's spell had been banished.  Blair had navigated them through a labyrinth of crates and goods stacked high, and Soul was reasonably certain he'd have trouble finding the exit, much less Tsubaki's brother.  That was why he had Blair and Maka with him, though, and despite her protests and a bit of claws digging into his coat he removed Blair from his shoulders and set her on the floor instead of giving her a careless toss like he wanted to.    
  
Maka was watching him when he stood back up, green eyes cold, and Soul realized where he'd seen that color before: shards of broken bottle-glass kicked up out of the sand, dusty-green and razor sharp.  
  
"What?" he asked, fingers of one hand trailing across one of his guns, and she frowned.  
  
"Mind yourself," was all she said, though, pushing past him to follow Blair, who was disappearing around a stack of boxes with a careless flick of her tail.  Soul followed her after a moment of confused staring, tracing the path Blair was taking by looking for cat-prints in the dust and dirt on the floor.  There seemed to be nothing in the warehouse of actual value; its contents were all old, and had not been disturbed in quite some time if the dust were any indication.  Eventually he found Blair and Maka staring at a corner of the warehouse, an unremarkable pile of boxes and rope and assorted detritus that Soul wouldn't have looked at twice if it hadn't _reeked_ of magic.  
  
There was a flash, and suddenly Blair was back in her human form, one long fingernail tapping luscious lips as she considered the puzzle before her.  "Strong wards," she said, thoughtful.  "I believe I can take them down.  Hold a moment."  
  
"No need," Maka said as Blair lifted her hands to begin a spell, the motion made obscene by the revealing dress she was wearing and the sheer _breadth_ of her cleavage.  Blair looked at her in surprise, lips forming a vulnerable 'o' that Soul suspected had been many a man's downfall -- but Maka was disgruntled and clearly tired of being near Blair and her figure and her mannerisms, and only snorted at Blair's expression before drawing not one but a pair of Bowie knives, one of which radiated power in a way that made Soul take a step back.  
  
Green eyes flicked to him and his unintentional movement.  "A witch killer," she said, and he knew it already -- the runes on the blade glowed green and the power on it smelled like mint, lingering on the back of his tongue.  Blair backed away as well, hips swaying even in retreat; maybe especially in retreat, Soul thought with a sardonic smirk, though the wary look in her eyes was very real.  
  
And then Maka moved in a blur, power coalescing around her and focusing in a blinding flash as she drove the witch-killer blade into a wall of magic that, to Soul, had been invisible until the knife slashed through it.  There was a flare of light and magic and then the illusion was gone and the wards with it, revealing a bare corner, its floor covered in runes, and a thin man chained to a chair who lifted his head when the wards went, staring with feverish eyes as his would-be saviors looked at each other, then took a few cautious steps toward him.  
  
"So," he said, eyes settling first on Blair and traveling up and down her figure in a way that wasn't sexual so much as horrifying.  "The cat comes to play, hoping to drive off the nest of snakes that has been stealing her mice.  It is wise of you not to confront the serpent directly, kitten."  Blair drew herself up, all hint of playful sensuality disappearing beneath her anger, but Masamune was no longer paying her any mind; his gaze had shifted to Soul, what would have been an attractive face made unsettling by virtue of gaunt cheeks and the sheer level of madness lurking in his sloe eyes.    
  
"And Medusa's little puppet, dead man walking and all unaware," he said, singsong, and as he smiled Soul glanced down and realized that the chair was sitting in a pool of dried blood.  "But don't worry," he said, grinning horribly when Soul met his eyes again.  "Madness is so much easier than sanity, so much more pleasant.  Soon enough you'll stop feeling guilty about wanting to eat hearts.  Soon your nightmares will become clear, and you'll stop getting in your own way, you'll realize that chaos is freedom and darkness is the only place where truth can exist."  
  
"I should have just become a piano player," Soul muttered, forcing himself not to respond as Masamune turned his attention to Maka, who was approaching him with iron determination in the set of her shoulders.  
  
"Little grigori, what an honor," he said, and Maka, who drawn close and been reaching for his chains, went very still.  "Have they sent you to try to contain me, to fix my mad brain?  I wouldn't try, little sister.  It might be the death of you."  
  
Maka stared at him for a very long, silent moment before slipping her knife between one of his wrists and the manacle that bound it, at which point she paused again, blinking, and Soul edged close enough to peer over her shoulder without getting closer to Masamune than he had to.  
  
So _that_ was where the blood came from.  
  
“Medusa keeps me alone in the dark,” Masamune sang as they stared at his blood-caked wrists, “beautiful clear darkness, but it does play tricks on the weakened mind sometimes.  She keeps me here, with my sword, forever out of reach because she likes to torment me with it -- keep my birthright away from me the way Tsubaki wanted to, wants to, and she sent you after me, yes?  Free me from the witch and hand me to my sister, one cage for another, the professional torment of a witch to the exquisitely personal agony that only family can inflict.  I cut up my wrists a-purpose, not to escape -- there is no escape from this hell or any other, even if I left the building a free man hell would still follow me wherever I went -- but because the pain keeps my mind clear, keeps me focused, and a life without pain to put the pleasure in context is worthless, don’t you think?”  
  
Maka listened to him -- Maka _watched_ him, eyes narrowed, looked through him the way she had a moment before when she told Soul to watch himself, and seemed to like what she saw in Masamune much less than whatever she’d seen in Soul.  
  
“Watch him,” she said, and Soul shifted into a better position to grab or shoot the man -- he didn’t care how good a fighter Masamune might be, a bullet in the leg would slow anyone.  Behind him Blair moved as well, her stare that of a predator waiting for the opportune moment, and Maka moved her knife against the manacle’s latch and gave it a quick twist that sent the chains clattering to the floor.  
  
“And this is what they call freedom, those fools,” was all Masamune said, though, and made no move to stand.  “At least if you deliver me from one form of bondage into another I shall have a better chance of seeing Medusa dead and her filthy magic with her.”  Sloe eyes shifted to Blair as he stood, brushing dark, lank hair back from his shoulders.  “And then perhaps you, cat.  Your kind are a blight on this world.”  
  
Blair hissed at him and he gave her a ghoulish smile.  Maka was trying to watch Masamune and collect his sword at the same time when an explosion from much too close knocked her to the ground, and Masamune chose that moment to move, uncoiling with a snake’s speed and darting for his sword.  Maka was still disoriented, too much so to recover enough to stop him; Blair was startled and angry still, reaction time blunted by rage.  
  
Soul’s gun came into his hand in a blur, and Masamune was not so mad that he didn’t stop when a bullet whizzed past his face, taking a bit of hair and skin with it.  Maka grabbed the sword and Soul grabbed Masamune, Blair running behind them with surprising speed as she yelled directions to get them back to the exit and they went crashing through the door and into the chill night.  
  
The docks were burning.  The docks were burning and the fire had started in the last warehouse Black Star, Tsubaki, and Spirit had been supposed to go to; Soul looked up, saw a sinuous silhouette backcast by flame against the sky, and felt his spine go to ice.  
  
“ _Move,_ ” he snarled, and shoved Maka into motion, dragged Masamune with him as he bolted in the direction of their boat, which suddenly seemed impossibly far away.  
  
A cluster of razor-edged, midnight-black arrows lanced into the ground where they’d been standing and Blair let out an offended shriek; a huge glowering jack o'lantern smashed into the warehouse roof where Medusa had been standing, exploding into a shower of flaming vegetable matter that Soul thought probably posed more danger than the vector arrows had.  At least the arrows had a trajectory and a target.  
  
He was getting his bearings, having stopped in an effort to avoid chunks of pumpkin, when the warehouse beside them blew up.  A distant whoop told him that Black Star had set off the traps on purpose, an idiotic tactic that Soul was nonetheless grateful for, as it meant he wasn’t going to have to face off with Medusa in a situation where the odds were so heavily in her favor.  One did not, after all, fight witches head-on; one _assassinated_ them.  
  
Soul was straining to see something, anything, other than flame, some sign that Black Star and Tsubaki were still alive and out of Medusa’s clutches, when Spirit dashed past them, shotgun cradled against his chest and Blair hard on his heels.  
  
“They’re fine,” he yelled as he passed, red hair whipping wild around his face.  “ _Run,_ before she or the other witches catch up!”  
  
Soul was in the process of saying something stupid about making sure when Maka grabbed his arm and forced him around to face her, green eyes backlit with flame and Soul wasn’t sure exactly what he thought of that, whether it was attractive or terrifying.  “Don’t act like an amateur,” she snapped, and he forgave her because of the worry in her eyes.  “Standing around gawking at chaos will get us killed.  Come on.”  
  
He let her pull him into a run, Medusa’s magic crawling over his skin and that awful _hunger_ snarling deep in his gut, more than willing to put as many miles between himself and the witch and whatever reinforcements she might have brought as he could -- and then stopped, Maka swearing as she, too, came to a skidding halt.  
  
“Masamune,” Soul said, trying in vain to locate any sign of the man.  “Where -- ”  
  
“I have his sword,” Maka said, and showed him the curved blade, still wrapped in burlap.  “He will come for it, I’ve no doubt.  Now let’s _go_.”  
  
They went, and nothing crawled out of the night to ambush them on the way to the ship, and Soul counted them very lucky indeed.


	5. I've really been on a bender and it shows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally meant to cross post this here like a million years ago. My bad.

Soul's memories after he followed Maka onto the ship were jumbled, came in flashes always overlaid with _hunger_ \-- the witches might not have caught up to them while they were running but they had definitely given chase, their magic scalding in the air and in his lungs and on the back of his tongue, the power in their souls more tempting than sin had ever been.  
  
He remembered Maka, sprinting onto the ship and whirling to catch her rifle when Spirit threw it to her.  She fell to one knee on the deck in a distractingly lithe movement as she raised the gun and waited for their enemies to appear, leather coat spread around her and the glinting light of the ship's lanterns making every line of her face soft, beautiful, deadly.  Soul lost minutes caught in the play of firelight across her face, the downward sweep of her brow and the calculating gleam in her eye as she aimed, the line of her mouth unyielding and nearly as distracting as the witches.  
  
There were more witches than he'd expected, and they came flying at the ship -- literally flying, which wasn't normal, but the time for subtlety was past -- and he wanted so badly for Maka to hit one, send her crashing to the ground so he could get his hands on her soul.  Witch souls couldn't, didn't taste bad; they tasted like the sun, like power and heat and cruelty, and his pistols were in his hands easy as breathing as he took aim.  He was not, at that point, guarding Maka -- he was hunting, and couldn’t shake off the effects of Medusa’s curse enough to realize the difference.  
  
The bullets, Soul would recall, didn't hit.  They were mundane things, bullets, and the witches were quite capable of deflecting or dodging them.  It was maddening, and at one point he woke as from a dream to find himself pressed to the ship's railing, Black Star's hand on his bicep in a crushing grip that was as much a warning as an effort to keep him from falling overboard -- from flinging himself back onto the docks, sharp teeth bared, hunting for a fallen witch.  
  
The hunger had never been like that before, all-encompassing and tinting his vision red.  Maka told him later that Medusa must have done something, that she'd sensed the witch's magic but hadn't been able to figure out what she was up to.  
  
Maka had passed the sword to Tsubaki, since it was hers by right anyway, and the glyphs that gleamed along its length when she drew it had been enough, however briefly, to distract Soul from his feral hunger and his need to, somehow, shoot down a witch.  They shone green in the night, magic warm and alive like heartblood and summer.  Soul wanted to curl around that magic and let it lull him to sleep because he thought it actually _could_ , and he ground his teeth and forced himself to turn and take a few shaky steps towards Tsubaki, hoping in the part of his mind that was still wholly his that maybe she could help him.  Maybe that sword could moderate the curse or remove it, let him feel calm and safe for once -- or at least make him feel less like he was constantly starving.  He was so tired of sizing up every stranger like they were prey, of making a conscious decision about whether or not it would be worth the trouble to kill them for the sake of slaking that awful need that always burned in the heart of him.  
  
He was distracted again by Maka, though, or more accurately by the fact that she'd managed to hit a witch, runes on the barrel of her gun flaring into violent viridian life as the bullet hit home.  Soul whirled around before Tsubaki could finish telling him that she wasn't going to let him much closer to her sword because she was afraid of what its magic might do to him, eager red eyes searching the sky.  The witch fell from her broom, hit the ground and scuffled about for a few tantalizing seconds before righting herself, and by then Soul was pressed to the ship's railing again, heedless of the fact that the crew was in the process of loosing the last rope holding them to the dock.  
  
"Soul," Maka said, one hand coming to rest on his elbow, and the physical contact imparted a measure of sanity and calm that Soul hadn't even realized he'd been missing.  
  
"Hah," he breathed, fighting to catch his breath as if he'd been running.  "Maka.  We need to get away, being near the witches is -- "  
  
She nodded, and her hand gripped his elbow more firmly, a little bit of electric power passing between them that did a lot to dispel the red edging his vision.  "It's all right.  I can keep hold of you until we're away.  Try to breathe, fight it."  Green eyes edged in lamp-flame met his briefly.  "I'll contact my mother as soon as I'm able.  She knows more about curses than I do, and removing them is her talent."  
  
Soul nodded, inhaling air that smelled of fire and the sea, gunpowder and Maka's skin, and behind them Tsubaki let out a surprised shriek.  
  
Maka let go of his elbow, rifle back in her hands and half turned before he managed to move; Soul twisted as fast as he was able but Masamune was too, too fast, fine features drawn into a determined, mad snarl as he wrenched the blade that was his namesake out of his sister's hands and closed the distance between himself and Soul with dizzying speed.  
  
Maka's rifle hit the deck, her knife gleaming in the lamplight as the ship at last pulled away from the dock, but even she was too slow.  Soul moved, enough to keep from being cut apart but not to avoid anything entirely; Masamune's sword cut through his skin and the flesh beneath like the proverbial hot knife through butter, and he was still trying to comprehend the wrenching pain of it when the world went black.  
  
/  
  
Soul was conscious of pain well before he was aware enough to open his eyes; he was cognizant of the ache in his chest even before he was aware of the rolling motion of the ship beneath him.  It made him restless in the way that only major pains could, imparting a self-defeating desire to move about, as if that might alleviate the suffering somehow.  He throttled that urge down and did his best not to tense or move while he got a handle on the pain and attempted to take some stock of his surroundings, but there were only the sounds of a ship at sea and the soft, measured breathing of a person at his bedside to pick up on.  Trying to remember how he'd ended up in this position made his head hurt, and perhaps it was the furrow of his brow that gave him away.  
  
"If you're trying to feign sleep for my sake, please don't trouble yourself," Maka's voice said, dry as bone dust, and Soul opened his eyes to find her watching him, legs and arms crossed where she was seated near his bed.  
  
"Maka," he said, and stopped, startled at how horrible his voice sounded.  
  
"You sound like you've been eating broken glass and gravel," Maka said, expression so carefully neutral that it made him suspicious.  "I suppose that's hardly surprising, given how much screaming you've been doing -- to the severe detriment of your stitches, I might add.  Maybe now that you've returned to your senses you can stop inhibiting your recovery at every turn."  
  
Soul closed his eyes and sighed instead of taking the deep breath he wanted, because he knew without trying that it would hurt far too much to be worth it.  "Screaming," he said, still appalled at his voice and how it sounded as bad as his throat felt.  "Perhaps I should skip asking specific questions and ask instead that you bring me up to date on the events that have transpired while I have been out of commission."  
  
She graced him with a faint, edged smile -- amused, and perhaps a little bitter.    
  
"That would be simpler, in all likelihood," she said, and Soul decided that he'd misjudged her emotion, for that was surely anger in her voice.  "Masamune ran up the last rope holding the ship to the dock while we were occupied with the witches.  He took the blade from Tsubaki and attacked you."  Gloved fingers smoothed across her pants, the cloth immaculately pressed as though she had had nothing to do while waiting aside from make sure her attire was perfect -- or perhaps, Soul amended, nothing to do once she'd sharpened her knives, oiled her rifle, and probably beaten her father to a pulp in sparring matches.  "I incapacitated him immediately after, and I apologize for not managing to stop him before he tried to cut you in half.  Tsubaki and I managed to stitch you up.  It's lucky that you're fast, or there wouldn't have been anything to sew together."  
  
Soul sighed again.  "At this rate I'm going to be paying _you_ for services rendered," he said.  "I've not been much of a guard."  
  
"Oh, no need," Maka said, smirking.  "You are, I think, out of my employ and have been since you agreed to go to New York -- or at least you are no longer my guard.  Instead I think I would call you a protégé.  I'll teach you to hunt witches and demons, and hopefully my mother can remove your curse.  I believe we have both profited by this arrangement in the end."  
  
"I am not yet certain that this counts as profit," Soul said, wincing when he moved without thinking.  "Though it is kind of you to sit by my bed while I sleep."  
  
Maka snorted.  "It is certainly less hazardous than going outside and risking one of the sailors seeing through my little ruse.  Things are much easier when they believe me a man.  Not that you haven't merited watching, with the yelling and thrashing you've been doing, but I assure you that my motives are not as selfless as you might like to think."  
  
Soul moved his head enough to look at her more closely and found that she was, indeed, dressed more or less as he'd first seen her, though she'd done something to flatten her chest and blunt the curve of her hips so that no hint of her gender remained except, perhaps, for a certain subtle something in the lines of her face.  Rather than comment and risk further injury, he contented himself with asking, "Are things difficult for Tsubaki?"  
  
Maka wrinkled her nose at him.  "No, of course not.  Not with Black Star to defend any scrap of her honor that she cannot defend herself.  This being a ship my father owns, the crew are not as uncouth as they might be, but they are still sailors, and she has had to make it clear in rather crude terms that she isn't going to tolerate any advances."  
  
"That's good," Soul said, weary already and ready to go back to sleep.  "What of Masamune?"  
  
"He has been more or less lucid thanks to me," Maka said, "though I couldn't tell you how long the effects of my attack will last.  He has been asking to speak to you when you're able."  
  
"What did you do to him?" Soul asked, and found himself debating whether hunger or exhaustion was his dominant need.  
  
"Mother's ability lies in reversing curses," Maka said.  "Mine lies in containing them, in protecting and forcing sanity.  I -- realigned his mind, you might say, and it has worked enough, at least, to render him less of a danger.  I believe that you should be able to speak with him without danger once you're capable of moving under your own power, since he doesn't have access to anything resembling a weapon."  
  
"I'll do that, then," Soul said, and fought a yawn.  "Later, after I've had a nap and food."  
  
"Blair isn't here," Maka said, and Soul blinked at her, confused, which elicited a low, tired chuckle.  "She was thinking about accompanying my father, but you scared her off.  She was afraid that in the close quarters of the ship you might get hungry one day and take a fancy to her soul."  
  
Soul opened his mouth to refute the claim and then really thought about it, remembered in flashes some of the night they'd freed Masamune and escaped, and shut his mouth without comment.  He picked apart the growling in his belly and found that it was not all physical hunger; sighed, eyes sliding closed, and felt his mouth fall into familiar lines of discontent.  "She might not be wrong," he said, and heard the creak of leather that meant Maka had shifted.  
  
A cool hand smoothed across his forehead, little spark of power, and Maka sighed.  "You'll be fine," she said.  "There's nothing for me to fix right now.  It was a fluke, I think, or Medusa did it deliberately.  I do not believe that the hunger will take you like that again without provocation.  Go back to sleep."  
  
He wanted to say something, but he was too tired, and sleep pulled him under before he could respond.  
  
/  
  
When Soul woke next it was to find Spirit staring moodily out the cabin's small window, a sabre on his hip and his shotgun hanging in its holster from a hook beside Soul's bed.  Soul moved, just a little, and found that his wound hurt less.  Encouraged, he swallowed and then dared clear his throat when the initial motion didn't hurt, and Spirit turned at the sound.  
  
"Good morning," he said, clearly restless at having been cooped up inside -- or perhaps in general, as Spirit Albarn had not struck Soul as the type of man to enjoy being forced to stay in one place for very long.  He went to a cabinet by the bed and removed a platter from it, lifting the lid to reveal biscuits, cheese, and a ration of salt pork.  "Have your breakfast, but mind you don't eat too fast.  After that, if you're up to it, we'll allow Masamune to speak with you.  I don't believe his little affair with sanity will be lasting very much longer, no matter how gifted my lovely daughter is at enforcing it."  
  
Soul only rolled his eyes a little, and let Spirit help him into a seated position, resting against the wall that the bed was built into.  Spirit reached for the tray and Soul looked down, took in for the first time the extent of the wound he'd taken: a deep slice from his left collarbone down across his right hip, edges as regular as if they'd been made by a surgeon's blade, and deep enough to have necessitated the thick, dark stitches that held it closed.  
  
"You were lucky," Spirit said, setting the tray on his lap.  "And fast, to have kept it from being instantly fatal.  We cut your bandages off not very long ago to let it get some air, but they'll need to go back on soon enough, like as not.  Now eat; you need the strength.  It's been days and days since we've gotten more into you than broth and water."  
  
Soul didn't really need the encouragement.  He tore a biscuit in half, sighing at how dry and hard it was, and stuffed it full of pork and cheese before taking a huge bite.  
  
"You'd better eat that slowly," Spirit said, giving him a father's disapproving look.  "I don't want to have to clean up your mess when you eat too fast for your stomach to keep up."  
  
Soul made a face at him but tried to oblige, chewing for much longer than he wanted to and giving the food time to settle before hazarding another bite.  Spirit left him after a few minutes with another admonition not to eat too _much,_ either, and Soul had to admit defeat after not nearly as much food as he wanted.  He sat back and tried to stretch, but his muscles had gone too long unused for stretching to be easy or painless, and it seemed like every movement pulled at his stitches.  
  
Spirit came back before Soul could manage to convince himself to get out of bed, holding the door open for Maka and, behind her, a heavily-bound Masamune who looked at him with eyes that were considerably more sane than they'd been the last time Soul had seen him.  Maka settled Masamune in the chair near Soul's bed, eyed him for a moment, then turned to her father.  
  
"Papa, it's fine," she said, and Soul inferred from her tone that Spirit had been arguing with her about her perceived safety -- Soul knew better than to think  the man overly concerned with his well-being.  "The man is not going to somehow free himself and catch us off-guard.  Please go make yourself useful elsewhere rather than staying here and getting underfoot."  
  
It took several more minutes and what amounted to a threat to clear Spirit out, but at last he went, glowering and grumbling, and some of the tension left Maka's shoulders when the door shut behind him.  
  
"I'm going to wait outside the door," she said, turning to look at them, and Soul glanced at Masamune, noting that Maka had gone to the trouble of binding his upper arms to his torso as well as tying his knees and ankles.  "If you two start a fight somehow -- I cannot imagine how you might manage it, but _if you do_ \-- I will know, and I will put an immediate stop to it.  Do not abuse my generosity, Masamune."  
  
He inclined his head to her, a gesture he somehow made graceful and deferential despite his ragged attire and bonds, and Soul gave her a nod.  Maka shook her head at the both of them, then turned on her heel and left, door crashing shut behind her with as much menace as her tone had held moments before.  
  
"I would like to apologize," Masamune said, dark eyes flicking back to Soul as soon as the door closed.  "I was not myself.  I am seldom truly myself of late, even with Miss Albarn's assistance.  The sword howls for witch blood, and the curse that you bear enrages it nearly as much as Medusa herself."  
  
"You truly meant to kill me," Soul said, painfully conscious yet again of his teeth, his eyes, the hunger that food could not soothe.  "We were both mad, though.  We have that in common, Masamune Nakatsukasa: we owe our enduring sanity at least in part to Maka.  I accept your apology, but I cannot trust you."  
  
"And you should not," Masamune said.  "Still, the curse you bear is more than any of you seem to think.  It was not merely some childish attempt on Medusa's part to cause you pain.  What she is playing at I cannot guess, but it is more than simply a desire to turn you to a revenant.  A witch of her skill and power would have known you could not be turned so easily.  Why exactly I attacked you is not clear to me any longer; some things one truly does see more clearly in the dark."  
  
Soul watched him in silence, red eyes hard, and could not think of any response.  
  
"The magic in you reeks of madness," Masamune said, voice softer, less controlled.  "The light will lie to you, Soul Eater.  Hope will not serve you here.  It is a false thing that will lead you astray with all your good intentions, and the harder you try to rise above what you have become the more dangerous you will be to everyone around you.  Do not sit around nurturing your hopes for the future and ignore the present.  However much you may want to be free of this affliction, it is no excuse not to learn to control it.  Own it, or it will own you, and I think that once it has taken control you will not find the way back to yourself with anything short of a miracle."  
  
He paused, still staring, and Soul scooted as far from the man as he could.  
  
"Embrace that darkness in you, that you may learn it," Masamune said, grinning.  "Truth exists only there, in the black corners of your heart where you are afraid to go.  We profess our secrets only in darkness; you must know your enemy and to know thy enemy one must know thyself.  Man's greatest enemies lie in his own heart.  If you fear your very nature, Soul Eater, you only give it more power over you."  
  
Maka came back in then, and Masamune stopped talking the instant her eyes focused on him.  
  
"Time for you to go," she said, and he stood obediently, let her lead him away while he chuckled under his breath.  
  
Soul didn't wait on her to return; as soon as the door shut he climbed out from under the blankets and located his clothes in a cabinet.  It hurt to raise his arms enough to reach them and hurt more when he had to bend to get into his pants and shirt, but the stitches held and he felt much better for being clothed and mobile.  It took much longer than he'd ever thought getting out of bed and getting dressed could take, and he was in the process of fumbling with the buttons on his shirt and deciding they weren't worth the trouble when Maka came back.  
  
"Feeling much better, I see," she said from the door, and he shrugged, then winced.  
  
"Enough to want to get out of bed and see the sun again," he said, and she moved out of the doorway.  
  
"Feel free," she said, gesturing to the door and the small passage beyond it.  
  
Soul looked at the hallway and at Maka, then rolled his shoulders and said, "Do you know where my guns are?"  
  
That earned him a flash of a grin, and she produced his pistols from somewhere beneath her coat with a deft flourish.  "I've been holding them for you," she said, a tiny bit of mischief in her eyes.  "It wouldn't do to leave them unattended, after all."  
  
"No," Soul said after a pause, watching her hands curl around the hilts of his weapons.  "I don't know where my holsters are, so give me one of them and you can hold the other for me until such time as I can reclaim it."  
  
She spun one of the pistols through her fingers again and handed it to him, silent laughter in her eyes.  Soul took it with a breath of relief, settling it carefully in the waist of his pants at an angle that probably wouldn't kill or maim him should it misfire for some reason.  
  
"Let's go," he said, and followed Maka out onto the deck.  
  
Sea air hit him as soon as they passed through the outer door and he nearly gasped at the saltwater chill of it, then grimaced as the skin of his partially bare chest tightened in response to the cold and pulled at his wound.  Despite that he kept moving, walked up the deck a bit to better see the ocean, and tried to remember what it was to move about a ship at sea without falling all the time.  At least the sea was calm, and it was glorious to see the sun again; more than that, it was exciting to know that he was leaving California for somewhere new, a place that held at least a hope of his curse being removed.  
  
Then he remembered Masamune's words about hope and curses and sobered fast.  
  
"We will be some time yet getting to Panama," Maka said, "though the overland trip will be fast.  Papa and I made the arrangements well ahead of time, and have the means to make sure that most of the delays that can be avoided have been.  From there we sail to Charleston, where the good Doctor Stein awaits us along with our associate, Justin Law.  He oversees most of our activities in that region since my mother relocated to New Orleans."  She paused, glanced at him from the corner of her eye.  "Justin will give us the most up to date news, and once we have that we will decide on a course of action."  
  
Translated, Soul inferred that she meant that there would be no way to know when he could expect her mother to be able to assist him until they could formulate concrete plans, and he nodded.  "I would hardly expect you to go rushing home into potential danger without any kind of prior preparation," he said.  
  
"We've no way to know just how much power Arachne has managed to accumulate in our absence," Maka said, grim once more, and crossed her arms over her bound chest.  "Besides that, Tsubaki has agreed to leave her brother with Justin, who has in the past demonstrated a knack for teaching those so afflicted to control their madness before it overtakes him.  Having forced such control upon him myself, I believe he has a reasonable chance of learning to do so of his own volition, at least well enough to keep from being a hazard to the lives of those around him."  
  
"Can he keep Masamune safe should Medusa come seeking him?" Soul asked, and Maka's eyes hardened.  
  
"Yes," she said, voice clipped.  "Medusa is strong and canny, but he is an exemplar.  Do not fear."  
  
He gave her a mild look.  "Of course not," he said.  "You proved to me very early on that your trust is not so easily given.  Where are the others?"  
  
"Papa is watching Masamune," she said, "and the other two are asleep.  It is early morning yet."  
  
"Of course," Soul said, and sighed.  "I suppose I had best get back to bed.  Are there any books to read on this ship?"  
  
Maka, who had turned to walk him back to the cabin, gave him an insultingly skeptical look over one shoulder.  "You can read?" she said, and Soul gave her his best scowl, made almost effective by his red eyes, and grumbled after her all the way back to his bed.


	6. It's the little things that make you crazy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was actually a stupidly long (two months?) delay between this and the last chapter, but because I'm forgetful that didn't happen here. Moving along~

If Soul had been inclined to use polite language, he might have called the trip quiet.  Maka confined him to bed with pointed glares and the not very subtle implication that she would render him incapable of standing if that was what it took to keep him there, and for a while the pain in his chest made him reasonably complacent.  Spirit visited occasionally, usually to bring Soul food under the guise of giving him suspicious looks in regard to the perceived threat Soul posed to his daughter's virtue in his twisted reality where Soul was capable of overpowering or deceiving her.  Black Star came to laugh at him, at least until Tsubaki bypassed pseudo-polite implications entirely and punched him to restore some of his maturity.  Enough that they came to some sort of impasse, anyway; enough that Soul found himself willing to trust his former partner again, if not perhaps with his life.  
  
For all that Spirit and Maka would have had Masamune imprisoned belowdecks, Tsubaki refused to allow her brother to be confined so, if only because she feared for its effect on his sanity.  After their little chat, Soul did not see the man again until some week or more later when Maka’s vigilance slipped and he found himself unsupervised.  Perceiving the opportunity and restless despite the ache in his chest, Soul edged out of bed, careful of his healing wound, and, once he was dressed, tottered out of his cabin on legs gone wobbly from disuse and the ship’s movement.  When he at last made his way outside he found calm seas and warm air and near-blinding sunlight -- they were nearing the equator, he remembered -- and Soul grabbed a nearby railing for support as he squinted and tried to make sense of what he was seeing.  
  
Maka, it seemed; Maka and Black Star, sparring in a blur of precisely placed kicks and punches and disorienting evasive maneuvers that did nothing but make Soul remember why he’d never taken up hand to hand fighting in the first place.  The sailors gave them a wide berth, and beyond them Soul could see Tsubaki’s silhouette in the prow, leaning into the hunched figure of her brother as if to protect.  Masamune turned when Soul’s eyes lighted on him, but Soul was still too sun-blind to make out his expression, which was probably for the better.  
  
He turned his attention back to Maka and her serpentine grace, precise fluid movements in stark contrast to Black Star’s fast, heavy blows meant to pummel an opponent into submission.  She whirled around him and Soul could see Black Star fighting his rising frustration; he caught himself wondering just which of them would slip up first.  The first opening given would likely be the last, with how hard Black Star hit and how unerringly he knew Maka would strike at vital areas given any opportunity.  
  
It was as he was becoming engrossed, eyes finally adjusted and learning to follow and understand their movements, that Spirit's hand clamped down on his shoulder.  Soul started and somehow managed not to go for the gun he'd stuck through his waistband, giving Spirit an annoyed look that made Maka's father respond with a deeply suspicious stare, green eyes narrowing down at him in a way that made Soul wish he'd drawn a pistol after all.  
  
"I'll go," he growled before the man could launch into some kind of tirade about him needing bed rest that was nothing but him trying to keep Soul away from the woman he was supposed to either be working for or trained by -- not that he was in any shape to do either.  “Don’t bother with the lecture.  I can be useless inside as easily as out here, and I cannot hope that you have much sympathy for the fact that I would enjoy staring at something novel for a time, not to mention getting some fresh air.”  He rubbed at his stitches through his shirt and sighed, watching Maka move with no small amount of envy.  “Would that I could at least practice my shooting or try to work some life into these torn muscles, but the crew would not allow me to discharge firearms on board and I don’t think I’m healed enough to even attempt anything strenuous.”  
  
Spirit’s glare softened somewhat, though the dissatisfied pull to his mouth did not fade.  He let go of Soul, though, eyes turning towards his daughter as he spoke.  "Find somewhere out of the way where you won't end up in the sea if we actually find some waves, and I’ll show you some stretches for the muscles," he said, looking as if the words pained him.  "There isn't much you can do yet, but at least it will be something to occupy you that isn't complaining or staring at my daughter.  Perhaps we can teach you to fish one-handed."  
  
Soul, through an inhuman feat of will, managed not to snap at Spirit in a literal _or_ figurative sense.  He wanted off this damned boat; Medusa's hunger would hound him till the end of his days, but nursing it in such close quarters was trying, made him restless and fractious and inclined to see just how sharp his teeth really were in what would undoubtedly be the worst ways possible.  At least Spirit was trying to help, even if his intentions were not exactly altruistic.  Soul shook himself out of increasingly bloody thoughts and nodded; they found a suitable spot and Soul let Spirit show him what to do -- the stretches hurt like hell, but he could tell they were helping, and even though he could see Maka he was in too much pain to care, which left both parties well satisfied.  
  
He spent the remainder of the first leg of their trip reading and trying to force his body to heal faster than it wanted to, which had the side effect of making Maka give him absolutely terrifying glares every time she caught him at it until he agreed to stop, at least for the immediate future.  Having Maka break one or both of his legs to force him to stay still and heal wasn't an experience Soul cared to have, after all.  His only consolation was that she gave her father equally blistering glares for having taught him the exercises, and by the time they got to Panama after what Soul estimated to be about two weeks Maka was hardly speaking to either of them.  He was inordinately glad to be on land again, if only because it meant he had the implied option of space if he needed it.  There were no witches, at least, and the trek through the jungle was not as awful as it could have been, though the weather did nothing to help his cut heal.  Still, he had a week of comparative freedom before they reached the Atlantic Ocean and yet another ship to serve as little more than a mobile prison until they reached their destination.  
  
The stitches came out sometime during the second voyage, and when he set foot in Charleston harbor Soul was wearing only bandages beneath his shirt, for all that his left arm was still more or less useless when it came to a firefight.  
  
"Papa," Maka said from somewhere behind him, "Soul and I will go ahead to Justin's shelter and let him know that you are en route with Masamune.  I've no doubt he will need as much advance notice as we can manage to accommodate him, not to mention us."  
  
"Maka," Spirit said, tone chiding and fatherly and infuriating, but Soul was too busy staring at the city to pay attention to their brewing dispute.  He hadn't seen civilization -- even if this was not necessarily 'civilized,' exactly, being as it was the hub of the slave trade -- for a very long time indeed, though the crush of people was not _so_ different from San Francisco, not that he'd ever spent much time there.  Maka argued with her father and Soul drank in the architecture, the cobbled streets old as the colonies, the bustle of the docks; took a deep breath and, under the smell of the sea and horses and a thousand other things, caught the electric scent of magic, of witches.  It was old, too old to be a threat or worth remarking upon, but it sent a galvanizing jolt through him nonetheless, mouth stretching into a toothy smirk and red eyes alight so that Maka stopped fighting with her father to look at him, cautious.  
  
"Let's go," he said, fingers flexing, eager for his guns.    
  
"Yes, let's," Maka said, stepping forward and taking him by the elbow.  Order returned to his mind -- the world lost its red tinge -- with startling suddenness, and Soul took a deep breath and waited for his heart to still before giving her a wan smile and letting her lead him into the city.  
  
"It's just old magic," he said as they wound through the streets, not waiting for Maka to do more than give him a querying look, deceptively mild.  He knew that an explanation was not optional.  "Nothing new, nothing threatening.  There have been witches here, and I can smell their magic.  Nothing more than that.  Thank you, though."  
  
He didn't need to explain the apology, and was glad for that.  Maka shrugged, an infinitesimal roll of one shoulder.  "Think nothing of it," she said, one hand smoothing over the buttons of her man's shirt -- more worried about passing as male than witches or Soul's curse, which was comforting in an odd way.  “I am always pleased when being of assistance dovetails so nicely with removing myself from my father’s presence.”  
  
Soul chuckled and looked around, pulling his coat a little closer: even in the south, it was heading into winter, and it was cooler here than in California, to say nothing of equatorial Panama.  It had been some time since he experienced proper seasons, and the chill in the air was nearly as enjoyable as the dignified architecture of the street they were walking down -- or the realization that he was back in a place that had real laws, where he could not be shot down or robbed indiscriminately.  Still, they were getting some rather unpleasant looks from the people sharing the street with them, looks Soul shrugged off as more of the same -- red eyes, strange hair, he was used to it -- until Maka spoke.  
  
"I am going to have to see that you are properly clothed," she said with some amusement as a well-bred lady took a look at them and sniffed, offended.    
  
Soul sighed.  "Tailors and respectable clothing were some of the reasons I left the east coast in the first place," he said, scowling so at a couple who had been staring at him that the man took his lady firmly by the arm and led her away, casting suspicious glances over his shoulder as they departed.  "At least in California people only looked at me like that because I'd drawn a gun on them or gotten into a bar fight."  
  
"Bar fight?" Maka queried, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, slight smirk tugging the corner of her mouth.  
  
"Black Star is not known for his discretion, at least not when it doesn't pertain directly to his mission," Soul said, still scowling and no longer paying the elegant houses or ancient trees much mind.  
  
"I will not bother feigning surprise," Maka said, very dry, and turned down a side street.  "But what is this you speak of?  You are, in fact, from the east of this country?"  
  
"Technically," Soul said, voice edged.  "Travelled a lot when I was younger.  Older brother -- well.  That isn't important.  I left as soon as I was old enough, learned to shoot and found myself a profession that had the added bonus of ensuring that my family left me alone.  Where are we going?"  
  
"To Justin's -- ah -- shelter, I suppose you might call it," Maka said, eyeing him askance but willing to let the topic drop.  "He takes in those who have fallen prey to madness, whatever the source may be, and assists their recovery as much as he is able.  He has a way with it -- most of his charges recover well enough to live on their own."  
  
"Not planning on leaving me to share a room with Masamune, I hope," Soul said, tone light but eyes wary when he glanced down at her.  
  
"No," Maka said, and her voice held no hesitation.  "You are not so far gone as to need Justin's assistance, particularly not with me present."  
  
Soul grunted an affirmative and glanced around again; they had passed out of the affluent section of town and into a neighborhood of run-down buildings, all peeling paint and sagging eaves.  Maka led him to one of these, notable only in that it was the only building in the area undergoing active improvement: men swarmed over it, repairing damaged wood and shingles, painting and cleaning windows on the second floor.  They drew near and the men stopped, staring at Soul; he stopped in the street and stared right back, eyes narrowing when one of the men gave him a knowing grin.  
  
Maka was already on the porch greeting a tall blond man dressed in plain black, the small smile on her face nothing if not polite and perhaps a touch relieved.  Soul stopped staring at the men on the roof and stomped onto the porch, nodding to the man while Maka shook her head at his behavior.  
  
"Soul, this is Justin," she said, and the man's empty blue eyes warmed just enough that Soul was almost convinced he was sincere when he offered his hand.  Soul took it, careful not to let his suspicion show, and smiled, equally careful not to let his _teeth_ show.  "Justin, Soul.  He will be joining us, I believe."  
  
"Excellent," Justin said, dropping Soul's hand and gesturing them inside.  "I am always glad to have a brother join the fight.  I presume your father is not far behind?"  
  
"Correct," Maka said, settling into a chair in the pleasant little sitting room they found themselves in.  Rather than sit -- Justin made him uneasy, though Soul would be the first to admit that strangers _always_ made him uneasy, especially when he couldn't read them well -- Soul found a corner and set his back against it, ignoring the amused glance he got from Justin.  "He has another patient for you, I am afraid -- a man called Masamune, and I am not optimistic that he can be helped.  Still, he needs a place where he can be contained, if nothing else.  He's an upsettingly powerful swordsman, and heir to a rather impressive and ancient witch-slaying blade."  
  
Justin brought them tea, a luxury Soul was very grateful for after so long at sea, and sat down across from Maka.  "It will be good to have a challenge," he said, expression serene and smiling.  "The men outside are nearly ready to leave me, and then I will have to pay for my carpentry needs rather than use them as therapy.  Doctor Stein fares well enough, by the way.  He is unhinged with grief and the madness in him is a bit closer to the surface than usual, but he is still in possession of his faculties.  I hope that you will be able to set things right in New York soon.  It would do him a world of good to be able to go home, and even more to visit Marie's grave."  
  
"Papa will set things right," Maka said, eyes flinty at the mention of her home and the chaos she was likely to find there.  "Though our course of action will depend on what information you can give us as to the situation at home.  I fear for what might have happened with so many of our operatives absent."  
  
"Rightly so," Justin said, expression turning grave.  "But let's allow that news to wait for your father's arrival, shall we?  I would prefer not to have to repeat it."  
  
Maka shrugged, a small gesture that Soul interpreted as irritation.  "Of course.  In the meantime, I believe I will see if I can't procure some acceptable clothing for Soul, since Papa is not known for his ability to move quickly when there is not some dire threat involved."  
  
"I'll direct you to a good tailor," Justin said, giving Soul a smirking once-over that made his hands twitch towards his guns.  "He does look a bit threadbare, doesn't he?"  
  
"I am a _bounty hunter_ ," Soul said in clipped tones, the desire to bare his teeth nearly as overwhelming as the desire to punch Justin right in his judgemental face.  "Vanity is not a part of my job.  Killing people is, and I assure you I am very good at _that_."  
  
"He is a better shot than me with those pistols, and has saved my life more than once," Maka said, sipping tea as if they were making small talk, and Justin's brows rose.  
  
"Well enough, then," he said.  "If you vouch for him so, I must accept that his skills are incongruous with his appearance and the scent of madness and black magic that clings to him."  
  
"Don't worry," Soul said, glaring and hungry in his corner.  "I'm not here to share a bunk with Masamune.  If you'll give us directions I'll be more than happy to present myself in a manner that suits your standards, if that will allay your concerns about my sanity and abilities."  
  
Justin gave him a foxlike smile.  “Maka speaks well of you -- I would not doubt your skills, nor your ability to cling to what remains of your sanity.  I would appreciate it if you would consent to dress yourself like a civilized man, though, so please allow me to direct you to a tailor and be about my business.  I have work to do if I am to be prepared for Spirit’s arrival.”  
  
Soul glared, and watched Justin's every move as he turned back to Maka and gave her directions before excusing himself with another one of those edged grins that Soul wanted to wipe off his face with his fists or a bullet.  
  
"Soul," Maka said, setting her teacup down with a grace and economy of motion that a queen might have envied, "give me your guns."  
  
" _Excuse_ me?" Soul snapped, uncrossing his arms and pushing away from the wall.  
  
"The tailor will want to get your measurements," she said, ignoring his agitation.  "They don't particularly like it when armed men wander into their shops.  This is not California, Soul Eater.  Surely you recall what it is to live in more civilized climes."  
  
Soul sighed and looked away, ground his teeth a bit.  Maka seemed to have a knack for getting him into situations where he lost his composure, which really made his life more difficult than he wanted it to be.  It was too late for that kind of regret, though.  Medusa would kill him if he went back to California alone, and he didn't much care for the notion of trying to make his way on the eastern seaboard by himself.  
  
"I remember," he said, voice coming out in a low, frustrated rumble, and produced his pistols from where they'd been tucked under his leather coat, hidden against the small of his back.  "It means maintaining the appearance of civility, no matter how false."  Maka stood and walked to him, the toes of her boots brushing his as she accepted his weapons.  "At least people were honest about their cruelty in California.  At least I could defend myself without too much fuss.  Does Arachne heed the laws?  Does she pay attention to what is considered good society?"  
  
"Only insofar as it behooves her," Maka said, peering up at him from far too close.  "She does a better job of it than most, when she wants to."  She tucked the guns away, hiding them under her own coat, and sighed, hooking her thumbs into her belt and still much too close for Soul's comfort or peace of mind.    
  
"Let's get out of here if we're going," Soul said, mouth still set into a scowl.  "And I hope you're paying, because I certainly do not have the funds to purchase a new wardrobe, particularly not one of fine enough cloth or stylish enough cut to please your cohort."  
  
That made her laugh, brought back that quicksilver grin, and Soul felt some of the violent tension in him ease and uncurl.  His shoulders straightened and he gave her a toothy, lazy grin in kind when she stepped away and gestured him towards the door.  
  
/  
  
The tailor was not so bad, though it tried Soul's patience.  The man fussed over him and made disparaging noises at his threadbare, cheap clothes -- though that leather coat had not been cheap and Soul would only give it up when Arachne or Medusa pried it from his cold dead hands -- but he took Soul’s measurements and promised to have a selection of clothes that Maka picked out delivered within a few days.  
  
"You may keep your hat if you must," Maka said as they left, though there was no bite to her voice -- there might even have been a trace of mischief, but Soul wasn't going to press his luck.  
  
"You are truly gracious," he said, still a little peeved at the tailor, and she chuckled, though her half-grin faded into something rather pained as they neared their destination.  
  
"Hopefully Papa and Stein have gotten over the worst of their dramatics over Marie and BJ," she said, allowing herself a heavy sigh.  "It has been difficult enough without the two of them caterwauling over their grief."  
  
Soul wasn't certain that he'd term what they found when they got back to Justin's _caterwauling_ , but it was definitely not dignified.  They let themselves in and found the main sitting room empty, but Spirit's impassioned commentary about his deceased comrades was both loud and easy to follow.    
  
"Oh, Papa," Maka murmured, walking ahead of Soul, who had paused at the sound of Spirit's rather unsteady voice.  He followed her down a hallway and past a rather forbidding door into what he assumed was the private portion of the building, and it was there, seated around a table covered in bottles of questionable alcohol, that Soul first saw the good Doctor Stein, whose madness had forced Maka to set foot in California.  The man was more than a little drunk and leaning against Spirit, as quiet in his pain as Spirit was vocal.  Soul glanced to the other side of the table, where Black Star was listening to Spirit extoll Marie's virtues and looking increasingly righteous, Tsubaki at his side looking grave and very tense, as if waiting for something catastrophic to happen, and sighed to himself.  
  
Satisfied that Black Star was not, for the moment, going to cause trouble, Soul turned his attention back to the doctor, catalogued hair only a slightly darker shade than his own, pale skin crisscrossed with railroad-track scars that looked oddly deliberate, glasses that almost obscured strange, pale green-grey eyes, and clothes that looked to have the same railroad stitching as the man's scars.  There was a pipe set on the table beside the spirits, still smoldering, and Soul would have thought it an attractive piece if he hadn't realized after a moment's scrutiny that the ivory of it was carved into a pattern of interlocking bones.  
  
"Papa," Maka said, just close enough to Soul's left side that he looked away from Stein to give the top of her head a reproving look, but didn't do anything overt to discourage her.  Spirit stopped mid-word to look at his daughter, eyes full of startlingly raw pain, and Soul would have been interested to watch the rest of their interaction if Stein hadn't chosen that moment to look up, the sinister gleam of light across his glasses precluding the piercing stare he pinned Soul with.  
  
"Oh ho," he said, voice breathing dark and gravelly across the syllables, and Soul reached for weapons that weren't at hand for the second time that day when a palpable feeling of being weighed, measured, and picked apart grated across his mind.  
  
"Maka," he said, barely able to force coherent speech and incapable of breaking eye contact with the doctor, whose expression was trending rapidly towards an unhinged grin, " _give me my guns_."  
  
" _Stein_ ," Maka said, sparing Soul a moment's exasperated glare before bending the full weight of her disapproval and power upon the tall man who had created the problem.  
  
The murderous gleam in his eyes vanished as quickly as the psychotic smile, and Stein turned an expression Maka's way that was nothing so much as tired affection.  
  
"Maka, my dear," he said, leaning back and splaying his rangy frame across every inch of the couch that Spirit was not likewise occupying.  "I am glad to see that your efforts have not been in vain -- indeed, you have brought _four_ exceedingly interesting subjects to me, and that red-eyed devil beside you I will especially enjoy studying, perhaps even more than the truly mad one Justin has taken downstairs.  If only I could accompany you home to clear up this mess, but alas.  I must rely upon you and Spirit to avenge dearest Marie, and convince the police that I didn't kill poor BJ.  I hope you will not take it amiss that I find myself wishing it can all be solved without confronting Arachne directly."  The edge crept back into his smile, the gleam of sadism in his eyes making Soul’s skin crawl so that he started weighing the likelihood of Maka breaking some of his bones if he tried to reclaim his pistols by force.  "Wringing her neck is a pleasure I would prefer to have for myself."  
  
"We shall see," Maka said, inclining her head in gracious concession.  
  
"Justin will be here momentarily," Stein said, crooked grin faltering when Spirit downed the rest of the drink he'd been nursing and let out a heavy sigh.  
  
Maka nodded, and there was a shining moment of silence in which Soul drew a deep breath, shook the tension and the crawling feel of Stein picking at his soul off, and did his best to remember that he was among allies and shouldn’t feel the need to have his guns in his hands.  
  
Black Star had never been one to abide silence, though, and Soul had barely exhaled the single rejuvenating breath he'd managed when his former partner stood and gave him the kind of determined, righteous stare that Soul had come to associate with crusades and nearly getting killed for whatever cause the man had decided to champion.  
  
"We have to help these people," he announced, and Soul rolled his eyes, stuffing his hands deep into his jacket pockets.  
  
"I decided to help them before we left California," he said, and caught sight of Maka giving Black Star a bemused look out of the corner of his eye.  "Were you just tagging along for fun?"  
  
He received a disdainful scowl in response.  "There was a lot in it for me," Black Star said without a trace of shame.  "Freedom from the witch, the opportunity to fight her and her sister for a living instead of be forced to work for her -- the only chance Tsubaki is likely to see to get help for her brother.  It was good business.  Now it's personal.  It was personal halfway through the trip, but you were stuck in bed and I didn't want to trouble you."  
  
Soul didn't believe that for a moment -- Maka had probably threatened to put a bullet in his brain -- but Soul was used to allowing Black Star the occasional polite fiction to preserve his considerable ego.  He gave his former partner a sardonic smirk just to make sure he knew Soul wasn’t fooled, and Black Star gave him a blinding grin right back, was in the process of laughing and coming over to thump him on the back when a noise from the back of the room interrupted them.  
  
"I am glad to see that you have made a firm alliance," Justin said, sidling into the room from somewhere deeper in the building and nearly startling Black Star into attacking him.  "Tsubaki, your brother is safely tucked away in a room with a light source he cannot destroy, and I will do my utmost to help him.  In the meantime, I have news for all of you regarding the state of things back home, consisting first and foremost of a polite but rather urgent request from Kid that you return home as quickly as possible.  Things have become a bit dire, I'm afraid."  
  
Spirit made a noise of desperate query, the sound begging Justin to tell him that the situation could be fixed, whatever it was.  Stein sighed and clapped a hand to Spirit’s shoulder, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and looking grim.  
  
“Arachne has seized control of a great deal of territory and power,” Justin said, arms crossed and face blank, so much so that Soul felt alarm prickle across his skin.  “The police are more hers now than ever before, and she has driven Feodor and his partner back to Europe, where they are struggling to defend Vienna.  She nearly killed Tezca while you were away -- he has been in hiding, where not even Kid knows.  Powerful as our few remaining operatives in New York are, they are not enough to stand against her, not when we are fighting a war on at least two fronts and not when she has resources at her disposal that can fight and best the likes of Marie and BJ.  If something is not done soon, she will become powerful enough that none will stand a chance of stopping her from taking the world for her own.  I was considering returning there myself when you arrived, or perhaps convincing Kid to call Suzume back from New Orleans.”  
  
Maka went very still at the mention of Suzume, and Soul glanced at her, brow furrowed -- and was interrupted by Spirit’s vehement denial.  
  
“No,” he said, perilously close to shouting as Stein’s mouth curled in a pained, mad half-smile.  “ _No._  I will not call Suzume back -- I _refuse_ to fall so far as to depend on her help.  We will return to New York and I will see this rectified; I will see Arachne dead or die in the attempt before I fail again.”  He stood, and Maka stepped forward when he swayed only to be rebuffed when Spirit all but charged past her, doors slamming after him as he ran outside.  
  
“He’ll be wanting to see what it will take to charter another ship to New York,” Stein said, getting to his feet and collecting his pipe, smoke curling around his face in twisting spirals that complimented his crooked smile in a way that made Soul deeply uneasy.  “I’ll make sure he doesn’t come to any harm.  I would be more than happy to let _you_ go, Maka, but I do not think Spirit is in any state to speak to you rationally at the moment.”  
  
“By all means, go,” Maka said, words clipped and all but vibrating with tension.  “Make sure he does not book us passage for the morning -- we need to wait two days or so, not only to resupply but so that the tailor can finish with Soul’s clothes.  Besides, it would do him well to have a few days to readjust, as it were.”  
  
“Of course,” Stein said, and left; Justin watched him go without comment, turning to Tsubaki once he was gone to invite her and Black Star to come with him and see the quarters he had settled Masamune in.  They accepted, leaving Soul and Maka alone in the room all of a sudden, not unlike an unexpected punch to the gut; Soul glanced at her, red eyes guarded, and she looked away.  
  
“I would rest, were I you,” she said, staring pointedly at the window to her left.  “We shall have a hard fight of it once we reach New York, and a hard journey there if Stein cannot convince Papa to wait for a ship to New York.”  A pause.  “I need you in good fighting shape if we are to avoid bringing my mother into this.  I’ll show you to your room and see what I can manage for a meal if you have no objection.”  
  
Her tone was curiously mild, as if something had taken the starch out of her, and Soul didn’t see any reason not to do as she requested.  Sleeping in a real bed that wasn’t in constant motion and eating food that wasn’t ship’s rations would probably do a great deal to hasten his recovery, in any case.  Maka turned to the right and, with a glance to make sure he was following, led him up a narrow, creaking staircase to a hallway lined with small rooms.  They were just large enough to hold a narrow bed, a chest of drawers, a small end table under an equally small window, and a person.  Soul was more relieved than he cared to admit to find his meager belongings waiting for him atop the chest of drawers, and stopped digging through them after a moment to find Maka lingering in the doorway, looking uncertain under her veneer of calm.  
  
Soul looked at her, dug through his things with more gusto, and at last procured the small pouch he’d been searching for, still packed to bursting with gold.  
  
“Let’s go out,” he said, tucking a handful of coins into his coat pocket.  “If you can take me to a decent restaurant, I’ll take care of the bill.  I’ve had more than enough of being cooped up in tiny rooms, and it seems as though that’s going to be my lot in life at least until we make it to New York.”  
  
“So you _are_ going to stay,” Maka said, unable to hide her relief or bright smile.  “All right.  I know a few places, and I imagine I can find one that won’t refuse you service for lacking proper attire.”  
  
“Says the woman pretending to be a man,” Soul said, and Maka shrugged as he brushed past her.  
  
“I, at least, look like a respectable gentleman,” she said, shrugging to settle her coat across her shoulders better, and Soul, lacking an effective retort, rolled his eyes and headed back outside.


End file.
